


Where There's Smoke

by Roscommon



Category: Stephanie Plum - Janet Evanovich
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Humor, Older Characters, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28266348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roscommon/pseuds/Roscommon
Summary: A short series of memories and adventures that Stephanie has from the vantage of a long, well-lived life. These vignettes stemmed from my curiosity around who Stephanie might become when around Grandma Mazur's age, given that Grandma is the family member she most resembles. Even after so much time and life, Stephanie is someone who takes everything in stride with humor and affection, is ready to dive into love, and also has compassion for the changes and loss that can accompany growing older.(Cross-posted on Fanfiction dot net in 2013.)
Relationships: Ricardo Carlos Manoso/Stephanie Plum
Comments: 15
Kudos: 12





	1. Where There's Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> This series of loosely-related stories is not related to other pieces I've written. The characters and trademarks in these stories belong to their respective owners. This story is purely for entertainment with no profit, so there may be mistakes.

* * *

**Where There’s Smoke...**

I stood at the front door as I watched the fire engine racing down the street, headed my way. The sirens were blaring as it raced through the stop sign with an ambulance and another small truck in tow. 

All in all, an unexpectedly lively start to an otherwise slow afternoon. I waved at the Gianni family across the street, who’d come outside to see what all the commotion was. And now, the young married couple on the other side of us was peeking out. Perhaps I could go over and meet them when this was over. Relatively new to this neighborhood, I didn’t know everyone yet. 

Well, nothing like a few sirens and speeding vehicles to make sure my new neighbors would get to know me. 

Though I’d be surprised if they didn’t already know who I was. You see, I was born Stephanie Michelle Plum at Saint Francis hospital, about a twenty minute drive away from here. For several years I was famous (perhaps I should say “infamous”) as the Bombshell Bounty Hunter here in Trenton. Decades later I found that those stories were still circulating. If anything, they were expanding and actively multiplying. In the ’Burg, gossip grows like a family of bunnies at a fertility retreat. 

Even for people who didn’t know me by reputation, I was still quite recognizable. The first reason was because, in a moment of questionable municipal judgement, my story and picture had become part of the Girl’s Career Day packet at the public library. 

But largely it was because I still looked a lot like how I did back then. Like my mother, my skin had aged and thinned but remained fairly smooth. A few age spots on my hands, but nothing to really change me. I still had rambunctiously curly hair, though it had lightened to a frosted gray, and I was proud to still have my figure. Thankfully, by the point when my Hungarian metabolism finally packed its bags and stormed out the door, I had developed a surprising exercise habit. Really it was due to my discovery of Zumba, drumming, and dance classes at the Y. Belly dancing for seniors, woohoo!

My musing was cut short by screeching of the various vehicles as they skidded to a stop at the curb. Sheesh, what was all the fuss about, anyway? Really, this wasn’t that serious: Just a minor burning smell and only a little bit of smoke wafting out from the kitchen cabinets. I'd definitely seen worse.

Two men hopped out of the fire engine's cab. Another guy jumped out of the smaller truck and ran over to them, while an EMT popped out of the ambulance, awaiting word on whether first aid would be needed.

Ah, just like old times.

And, again like old times, I recognized the driver of the fire engine. At least this time it was because of a family resemblance and not because of a previous accident or mishap. Happily, it's been quite a while since I was a frequent customer of the various Trenton emergency services. 

"Hi Tony," I called out. I almost felt like I was showing off by knowing his name since, jeez, all the Gazarras look alike. I used to tease Eddie that he must have a cloning lab in his garage since his sons all looked exactly like him. Then, when his grandsons also looked the same, I decided that there must be a master Gazarra gene. Probably somewhere back in Sicily there’s an entire parish full of people who all look like Eddie. 

Fortunately for me, Tony had the distinction of being the rebel Gazarra. He had thumbed his nose at fate and joined the Trenton Fire Department rather than the Trenton Police Department. As I heard it, there was still a ’Burg tizzy over having a Gazarra in the wrong station house, wearing an extinguisher instead of a gun, and playing for the TFD in the winter bowling and summer softball leagues. Hard to know which one of those was the most scandalous at family gatherings. 

Possibly he was inclined toward a career in pyrotechnic emergencies due to some crazy throwback to my family, via my cousin Shirley who was his grandmother. I could totally understand. Hmm, let’s see… driving around all day arresting winos or jumping into a large truck and racing to battle flames.... Good choice, Tony.

"Hi Stephanie," Tony acknowledged me over his shoulder while helping the other two guys release some equipment from the fire engine. As the two younger fellows adjusted their jackets and extinguishers, Tony added, “Good to see you’re out of the house. Any burns or other injuries the EMTs need to see?” 

“No Tony, I’m fine. As soon as I saw a problem, I called it in. Then I called my daughter who insisted I should come outside and wait for you to do your firefighting thing.” I paused to roll my eyes. “She said you’d be pissed if I put out the fire for you and stole all the glory.” 

Ah, she knows me very well. 

Because, yes, of course I had wanted to stay inside and battle the fire myself, with images of me heroically finding and smothering the flame running through my head. Knowing me as she did, she wouldn’t get off the phone until I’d used it to take a picture of myself standing outside. She insisted I stay there, reminding me that she was only saying what her father would tell me to do. I knew she was right, so I stayed outside even though it seemed silly. 

Tony chuckled and said, “Glad to hear it. Alena was always sensible.” Then, he laughed a bit harder, and added ruefully, “For the record, she never let us boys have any fun, either, when she baby-sat our family.” 

In the meantime, the two young firemen had loped over to me. “Ma’am, where is the fire?” the stockier of the two men asked, one lightly tanned hand grasping a flashlight while he put down a duffle bag of some sort at the door. 

“Call me Stephanie, please, and it’s in the kitchen right down that hallway,” I pointed. Though, as I watched them stride down the hall I wasn’t really sure why he needed my help. By that point, the smoke was visibly puffing out of the kitchen door. Hmm, it looked like the smoke had gotten a bit thicker since I had stepped outside. Maybe my daughter knew what she was talking about, after all. Something to think about.

Still over by the truck, ready to connect the hose if needed, Tony smiled and said, "Grandpa Eddie says 'Hi.' Just a couple weeks ago at Sunday dinner he was telling us how much he's looking forward to seeing you at the awards dinner this weekend.” He added with a grin, “He'll be totally envious that I got to ride to your rescue today."

“Thanks Tony, please say ‘Hi’ back, and tell him I miss him too.” I made a face at Tony and added, “But, so you know, I  _ don’t  _ miss having to be rescued all the time.” 

Tony chuckled, “I hear you.” He checked something on the truck and then turned back to me, adding, slightly hesitantly, “I know Grandpa Eddie says he was really happy for you when you finally decided how you wanted to live your life. He told me once that it was like, after your dad had his first heart attack, you suddenly clicked onto the path you should follow, got your man, and single-handedly reduced the emergency call budget by about a quarter.” 

His suddenly bashful look indicated that he hoped he hadn’t stepped over any boundaries with me. But I was fine with everything he said. In fact, I kinda agreed with Eddie. It’s funny how time and experience give you perspective. 

I nodded at Tony. “Your Grandpa Eddie is an observant man.” I looked into the distance while I remembered. I’d known Eddie since childhood. He’d had front-row, first-responder seats to my exuberant career as an untrained bounty hunter and my volatile love life, which seemed to track up-and-down along with my bounty-hunting mayhem rate. Probably it wasn’t easy being a bystander while I was trying to figure out how I fit in with the rest of the world.

Finally, circumstances in my life pushed me to complete my reluctant, knuckle-biting skid into adulthood. So yes, I eventually did decide what I wanted from my life. Along with that, I finally knew which man I should be with. It was suddenly obvious that I’d already wasted too much time yo-yo-ing back and forth between two men: Movie-star-handsome Joe Morelli and drop-dead-sexy-mercenary Carlos Mañoso. It was obvious who I should be with. And I was lucky and grateful that he had waited for me to figure myself out. 

We got together and never looked back. Now, after a full and very eventful life together, and a lifestyle that included enough excitement to keep both of us on our toes, we'd just downsized into this new condo that’s only about fifteen minutes from where I grew up. 

A condo that, I sighed to myself, will probably soon become the latest big headline news in the ’Burg since I’ve apparently now set it on fire. 

At that moment I noticed a familiar car turn the corner, headed our way. My daughter to the rescue. 

My sister Valerie joked with me about my daughter. And, darn it all, Valerie had been right when she’d noted dryly a few years back that I must have secretly wanted a daughter to hover over me in my later years. Otherwise, she’d asked, why would I have given her what was basically a variant on our mother’s name? Of course, Val knew that that Alena was also our great-grandmother’s name and that Grandma Mazur had suggested it. 

But, still, Val had gotten it right. Alena had emphatically unfurled her super-mom cape large enough to include me. Sometimes she went into overdrive and it was hilarious, like when she insisted on traveling to accompany me to the doctor’s office and then maintain line-of-sight on me the whole time so I didn’t bolt from the waiting room. Or when she’d secretly swap out the steak knife at my place setting in restaurants, and then look smug like she’d really pulled one over on me. 

Oh well, for my part, I loved my daughter dearly, so had mostly figured out how to make this new dynamic work. After all, she meant well. And she was way less pushy than my own mother had been with my grandma. Or with me, for that matter. 

I watched as Alena got out of the car and started walking toward me. Visually, she was the perfect blend of me and my husband, which meant that she had my husband’s good looks along with my long legs and boisterous hair. As often happened when I saw her, an image from her childhood superimposed itself on the scene. Today it was the time in grade school, when she’d reported finding found daddy’s latest tracking device in her belt. She’d grinned, describing how she’d palmed it off on this year’s Mean Girl and then tailed her own Rangeman trackers as they’d dauntlessly followed the girl’s family car home before figuring out the ruse. 

Yup, our daughter, all right. 

As she walked by the fire engine she called out, “Hi Tony,” still striding toward me. And then, reaching me, she asked, “Mom, are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, really I am,” I answered, knowing that this was what she truly cared about. “Seriously, though, I have no idea what happened. I put a pot on the stove to make turkey soup and then turned around to clean up.” I saw her roll her eyes.

“What?” I threw my hands in the air. “Jeez, I cook sometimes!” I figured this wasn’t a good time to belabor the point, since it could easily veer into a discussion of the increased risk factors known to be part of my cooking experience. But really, I’d cooked more-or-less successfully for decades. How hard is soup? Good grief! 

“Mother,” she sighed. “I just wish you’d be more careful. Fires don’t just happen spontaneously. I wish you’d remember that you and everyone around you can really get hurt, or even killed, if a fire gets out of control. I read just last week how accidental fires are an increasing cause of injury for older people.” 

She took a deep breath and I sensed that she was about to launch into “safety first mom” mode. I figured it was a good time to redirect the conversation. She’d get upset if I pushed back, but I really didn’t need a fire safety lecture. It was up there with “don’t stick your fingers into electrical sockets” and “never shower with your toaster” in terms of things for which I needed reminders. 

Before she had a chance to start a new sentence, I quickly asked, “Alena, I forgot to ask earlier, could I borrow a pair of sensible black pumps for the court date next week?”

Oops, that might not have been the best thing to ask at this moment….

She rolled her eyes again, and then looked around at the neighbors watching the hubbub. She lowered her voice and steered me to the front porch. “Ugh, Mom.” She sighed. “Nobody gets escorted out of the funeral home by the police for disorderly conduct. I can’t believe we were questioned for a half hour and then daddy had to go to the station to bail you out.” 

I knew she was annoyed but couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, that was a good wake, that’s for sure. But, when one of  _ us  _ goes, it’s an event.” 

She stopped and stared at me, with a look that said she didn’t even know how to respond. 

I thought to myself that, yes I really meant what I’d said. Every year there are fewer of my generation left around. Those who’d made it this far have some really classic stories to tell. We’re legends. Our wakes should be the basis of tales for years to come. They should be like how a recent history program showed the Vikings toasting and shouting out their fallen comrades’ stories over their burning pyres. They shouldn’t just be a bunch of grumpy old retirees snarfing cookies, fighting over folding chairs, and pretending to pity the family left behind. 

Not that free cookies weren’t a draw, but we rocked the world in our day. Our wakes could rock the neighborhood a bit.

For my daughter’s benefit, I added, ”Let’s face it, we’ve known each other for decades. A few fights are bound to happen.” I thought for a moment about the challenges that funeral home owners faced, these days. With more people living long lives, getting joint replacements, and even going to the gym, probably there was an epidemic of pugilistic seniors. Probably  _ Undertakers Monthly  _ had entire issues devoted to it. 

“Anyhow, the court date is next week. I’m going for an outfit that says: ‘She’s quiet and bakes cookies and doesn’t belong in the pokey’.” I paused, then added, ”But, I’m really not too worried about it. Nobody in their right mind wants to put me in prison.” 

I actually was pretty sure that was true. Hearing it was me, the judge would likely do everything in his-or-her power to keep me out of the prison system so I wouldn’t incite the rest of the criminal community while behind bars. 

And of course, as Alena well knew, her father would be at my side in court, looking respectable with his cane and promoting my upstanding character—while hiding his laughter at the whole situation and also managing to look ready to make pointed calls if the judge tried any funny business. 

My daughter had turned us briskly and started moving back to the porch, again. “Mom, I’m just relieved that you’re not planning on wearing  _ those  _ shoes to court.” She looked down briefly at my feet. “And, jeez, watch where you walk.” She grabbed my elbow because, truth be told, I had started to teeter a bit as she turned and propelled me forward. 

But it was worth it. My shoes today were an awesome pair of azure strap-on sandals with 3-inch heels that Connie gave me when she cleaned out her closet. I was really loving the shoes. And, I knew that Alena’s father was going to also appreciate them when he returned home, along with the flattering pair of crop pants and the T-shirt that might reveal just a peek of midriff if I stretched just right. 

Since I knew that Alena didn’t want to hear anything about me and her father getting frisky, I kept the thought to myself. However, I think my smile must have gotten a bit goofy because she huffed out a sigh as she opened the gate to the porch. It was really more like an extra-wide section of paving stone wrapped around one corner of the condo, but I really liked it on these early autumn afternoons. 

I sat down on the porch swing, but before my daughter had a chance to sit in the chair across from me, the two firefighters emerged from the front door. One headed directly back to the fire engine and started talking with Tony, and the other came over to us. He was the same fellow who had addressed me before. He glanced between me and my daughter, and then focused back on me. “Everything looks alright now, ma’am. I mean Stephanie.” 

He blushed a bit, though I wasn’t sure why. Lots of older people go by their first names these days. He glanced at the fire engine, then back at me, as he continued, “So, it looks like you were cooking. We think a spark caught one of your potholders over at the stove, and when you put in the drawer it started to smolder and caught fire, so the other potholders in the drawer started to burn, too.” 

Well, that was a new one. I could see how I could have fun telling this story. Bonfire of the Potholders. Might as well enjoy it, since the tale would be whipping through the ’Burg probably within seconds. If not already.

He looked over at my daughter, who was standing with her hands on her hips. He turned back to me and added “Anyway, that’s why there was smoke coming from the stove area. We were worried that the stove wall had caught on fire, but it was only that one drawer. I think you could just replace it and the cabinet will look good as new.” 

As the young, stocky fireman spoke, the ambulance pulled away and the other guys were battening up the fire engine to head back to the station. 

Tony called out, “Hey Stephanie, Alena. We’re heading out now since everything is okay.” He smiled at us and then climbed into the cab. “I’ll see you at the awards dinner.” He glanced over to the young man standing across from me. “Bernie, we’ll see you on first shift tomorrow. Have a good one.” He waved at us all as they pulled away from the curb.

I’d forgotten about the other truck in front, but that must belong to Bernie. Another of life’s little mysteries solved. Looking around, I could see that our neighbors had gone back into their condos. Oh well, I’d have to meet that nice young couple later. 

I looked back at my daughter. She was still watching Bernie with her hands on her hips. “Are you sure the fire’s out?” She then glanced at her car, the front door, then back to me. Probably she was worried that, as soon as she left, I’d dash back into the kitchen whereupon the potholders would burst back into flame and engulf me like a marshmallow. 

“Ma’am,” Bernie said, this time looking at my daughter, “I was going off shift when this call came in, so I can stay here for around fifteen minutes to make sure there isn’t a flare up. Then I’ll head home from here.” He pointed to a small pile of duffle bags they’d dropped by the front door when they first arrived, and added, “I’ll just get that all sorted, and then we can sit together here for a while.” 

My daughter gazed at me as Bernie wandered off. She took a calming breath and said, “Well, I’m really glad you’re okay, Mom.” 

“Thanks.” I looked at her, seeing the frown lines still on her face. “You worry too much, though.” She looked at me like I had no idea what I was talking about.

She sighed. “Just be careful the rest of today, okay?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be busy and out of trouble. Cece will be here in about an hour to take me to the beauty salon for the afternoon.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Just do me a favor and don’t give her any trouble. I don’t want to hear that my daughter’s in jail with her grandmother because of a brawl at the hair salon.”

I just laughed. What else could I do? The scenario was ridiculous enough to be plausible. If it had been me with my Grandma Mazur, it was even more than plausible. Fortunately Cece was more grounded than I was at her age.

She looked heavenward, so I stood up and patted her on the back and then nudged her in the direction of her car. “I’ll be on my absolute best behavior. I promise.” As she walked back to her car, I called out, “Talk to you later. Love you.” She waved back over her shoulder. “Love you too, Mom,” she called back as she got in the car. I sat back down and resumed swinging. 

Watching as her car rounded the corner, I was thinking about how these things must skip generations. I could remember my mother rolling her eyes at my grandmother’s wild antics, though I hoped my adventures weren’t quite as harebrained as my Grandma Mazur’s were. I sometimes worried that I’d make my daughter roll her eyes so much that they’d get stuck in some odd position and it would be my fault. 

Of course she  _ had _ gotten the habit from me, and my eyes had never gotten stuck. But still, sometimes you need to think about these things.

Thankfully, over the past few months she had eased back with help from her father. After all, he had plenty of practice dealing with the situations in which I often found myself. He had a finely developed sixth sense for knowing which ones actually mattered. Despite his help, though, she was still mortified that I had a court date next week. She still didn’t understand that it was completely offset by the Senior Center award I was getting this weekend. 

That made me smile every time I thought of it. How great was it that I was getting an award for walloping an intruder with my purse after he’d snuck through a kitchen window into Saint Anthony of Padua Assisted Living?

I’d gotten an ovation—as close to a standing ovation as you can get in an assisted living community—when I’d followed up the classic hefty-purse-in-the-head move with a swift kick to the balls. The intruder was unconscious for over a half hour and then threw up in the police car when he awoke. Young neighborhood hoodlum-in-training neglected to wear a cup to the crime at the old folks home? Well, whose fault was that? 

My friend Marilyn, who I was visiting at the time, had wheeled back to her room to pull out a bottle of Moët champagne, of all things. We were all in the common room in a loose semi-circle around blond-wannabe-from-the-hood, sipping happily from Solo bathroom cups when the cops arrived. 

So, anyhow, I had a Senior Center awards dinner this weekend where I’d be applauded by most of the off-duty TPD and the mayor’s Senior Outreach office. Then a few days later I’d go to a court date regarding a funeral home tussle where thank heavens the only remaining complaint was from Joyce Barnhardt. She swore that I stole her hearing aid. Like I’d want something with her earwax cooties on it. Jeez. 

Yeah, I wasn’t worried about going to prison on that one.

At that point in my musing, Bernie the Fireman walked back over to me and sat in the chair across from me. We shared some small talk. He showed me a picture of his daughter, who was entering first grade next year. She was cute, but I couldn’t resist winking at him and mentioning that in about forty years she’d still be adorable while she was hovering over his golden years. 

He laughed and switched topics. Smart man. “This is a nice place.”

“Yeah, I like it here. It’s close to our family and it’s all one level, which is huge for us older folks.” At his questioning look, I added, “I’m not kidding about that. Before I had my knee replacement a few years ago, going up and down the stairs in our old place was like climbing the Matterhorn.” 

I paused, remembering how I’d resisted the knee surgery for years, and then roundly hated my physical therapist. But then, the first time I went up those stairs without pain I danced on the landing in joy. I smiled at Bernie, remembering my happiness. “Now I’m all spry again." 

“I’m glad,” Bernie smiled. “So I saw the canes inside. Are you able to get around without them, now?” 

“Oh, those are my husband’s. He has a few. He pretty much needs a cane all the time, these days.” Oh, I mused to myself, he was more than nimble enough for me—whether walking, driving, slow-dancing, or making love. Especially making love. Never any complaints in that department. But stairs seemed to be wearing on him more and more. Though he never mentioned it, I was glad we didn’t have steps inside the house anymore. 

I used to think that people’s bodies just got weak as they got older. That your eyesight lost its luster and your knuckles swelled so you couldn’t possibly remove and misplace your wedding ring anymore. But now I knew, also, that old injuries came back to visit more frequently. Eventually they decided to stay full-time as a reminder of our glory days. 

Bernie and I chatted a bit more, and then somehow the topic of this weekend’s Senior Center award came up. Okay, I’ll admit, I brought it up myself out of the blue. How funny was this, that my big excitement was the Senior Center? But, I truly loved the whole story about the break-in. Only in the ’Burg would someone think it was brilliant to break into an old folks home, as though the codgers kept wads of money in their denture jars and stashed in with the Depends.

Bernie looked up, suddenly more attentive. “Oh wait, I’ve heard of that. That was you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Wow! I’m with a local celebrity.” He smiled, which illuminated his whole face. “Well, the way I see it, I’d give you an award too. I know that kid and he’s a dummy just a half-step away from being a juvie, along with half of those Morelli boys he hangs out with.” 

He noticed my expression, and asked, “You know the Morellis? I live down the block from that knucklehead Leo Morelli, have you heard of him?” 

“Leo… is that Mooch Morelli’s grandson?” 

“Yeah, him and Gino.” 

“Yeah then I know him. I lived away from here the past few years, but I’m ’Burg born and bred.” I actually knew Leo fairly well, but didn’t want to go into that. “There are two things you can count on in the ’Burg: Wherever there’s a cluster of old folks on the street you’ll find someone selling Metamucil out of his trunk, and wherever there’s a stupid crime you’ll find Mooch Morelli’s offspring nearby.”

Bernie snorted. “Well ma’am, I mean Stephanie… I’m not from the ’Burg. My wife’s family is here so she wanted to live near them, but I really don’t get it.” He gave me a considering look. “I mostly mind my own business, but those Morelli boys gather at his house all the time. It’s more than just Leo’s four sons. I can’t even figure out how many there are, there are so many cousins and nephews. And I certainly can’t figure out why they hang out at his place rather than at their own homes.”

He looked into the distance before continuing. “If there were wild parties, or even proof of underage drinking, we could do something. But, unfortunately, all we have are cook-outs every night, a bunch of junky cars in the yard, and a string of petty break-ins all through our neighborhood.” He paused and grimaced. “I won’t tell you why, but we know for sure it’s a few of the Morelli cousins, and that Leo is covering up for them. We just can’t prove it.”

I looked at Bernie’s troubled expression and thought about it for a few moments. He seemed like a good man who cared about family. I made my decision. 

“Listen,” I reached forward and tapped lightly on Bernie’s hand where it was resting on his knee. He looked back at me, so I continued. “Do you want to get Leo to toe the line?” Bernie looked at me and slowly nodded yes. 

I sat back and continued. “Okay, here’s your introduction to ’Burg 101.” He gave me a bemused look. “Bernie, have you heard about the scandal at Sacred Heart Church, maybe twenty years ago, where all the Knights of Columbus stuff and a couple vestments went missing and someone barfed in the  _ piscina  _ in the sacristy?” He blinked a few times and looked at me blankly. 

I continued, “It was a big deal—everyone talked about it for months—they had to get the whole place reconsecrated. It cost a bunch, and the Cardinal came in-person to scold the local congregation.” He nodded, slowly. He had heard of this one, after all. I wasn’t surprised. Scandalous stories live for generations in the ’Burg. 

“Well, I won’t tell you who, but I know someone with pictures of Leo’s dad, Sal, in the middle of it all, along with Leo and a couple cousins. Sal apparently was drunk as a skunk, and if I remember correctly he and Leo were playing air guitar while wearing the priest tunics that went missing.” Bernie was now staring at me, his mouth open. I continued, trying hard to temper my amusement, “I’ve also been told that there’s more than one incriminating ‘barfing‘ photo.”

I stared straight into Bernie’s eyes and continued, measuring my words slowly. “Sal was mean, and a big dummy, and drank himself to death not long after. But, Leo and the other guys were kids then, and nobody would actually want them to go to prison for something that stupid. Not me, and not even the person who took the pictures.” I paused, not wanting to give him enough information to incriminate the person who’d taken them. 

“But, here’s the thing. Within the ’Burg the embarrassment potential is huge. It’s enormous. People were outraged. If it became known that Leo was as involved as he was, the whole ’Burg would close ranks on him and his family. They’d never be able to shop at Giovichinnis or Italian Peoples Bakery. Vito over at Speedy Fast would stop repairing their cars. Daycare would disappear. Heck, all of Mooch’s sons, their kids, and their families would probably have to leave town and change their names.”

I looked at him closely to see if he was getting it. “So, Bernie, you understand that  _ nobody  _ wants that to happen, right? Not me, not Leo, and not even you because you’re a nice guy.” 

I paused and Bernie slowly began to smile back at me. “But,” he started slowly, “if I were to let Leo know that I had access to incriminating photos from Sacred Heart that I really didn’t want anyone to see….” His smile broadened, “and then if I mentioned how I really need him to control the kids hanging out at his house and to maybe get rid of the crap cars….” 

I nodded at him, “Your neighborhood would quickly become quieter.” I paused, amused at Bernie’s indoctrination into the ’Burg way, and then added, “You just can’t ever tell  _ anyone  _ that story, not even your wife since she’s from the ’Burg. And you absolutely can’t tell anyone that I was the one who gave you the scoop.” 

Bernie nodded slowly at me, “It’s a deal.” He then looked at the time, slapped his hands on his legs and then launched up out of the chair. “Well, I’ll just go check that drawer to make sure nothing has started to smolder again.” 

While he went to check, I had a moment’s satisfaction at another perfect ’Burg moment. I could tell from the look in Bernie’s eyes that he knew what to do, and that Leo’s secret was safe. Leo would step up to keep the next generation of Morellis out of trouble. They were already hanging out at his house because he was more stable than their own dads. 

And, Leo would have no idea that I was the one who’d clued-in Bernie. I’d gotten it through the usual twists and turns of the ’Burg network, which meant that it was impossible to find the source. And, twenty years ago, everyone had been so drunk that nobody remembered who had been there taking pictures. 

Like I’ve always said, it’s the little things…. 

Bernie came back out and told me that everything was fine and I could go inside. He apologized for the singe marks around the stove, and for the potholders sitting charred and wet in the sink. I just waved it off. Clearly Bernie didn’t know of my vast experience with explosions and general mayhem. Singe marks? Wet potholders? Puh-leeeze. 

At that point, a car pulled up in front, stopping right behind Bernie’s truck. I watched my husband get out of the car, coming back home from his regular volunteer stint at the VA center. He casually inspected and cataloged the unfamiliar truck and then started up the walkway toward us. I was happy to see that he was only using his cane lightly this afternoon. 

“Babe.” He looked over to where Bernie was finishing up, then looked archly back at me. “Getting lonely again while I was out?” 

He flashed his 200-watt smile and I fell in love all over again, head-over-heels, as I’ve done at least once a day in the past 45 years that we’ve been married. He and Bernie shook hands and did the manly handoff thing. Then Bernie went to his truck and threw the duffles in the back, waved at me, and drove off. 

Meanwhile, Carlos walked up to where I was sitting. I checked for drool, stunned again at how handsome he was. "See something you like, Babe?”

Oh yeah. I smiled up at him. His full head of silver hair, trim and well-dressed body, and carved black cane combined to make him the most dapper, swashbuckling senior ever seen on the planet. Oh, I’d seen pictures of Cary Grant and remembered James Garner (Duh: Rockford! Hello!) in their golden years. And there was Keanu Reeves after he’d let his hair turn gray, and of course Javier Bardem with his wide shoulders, soulful eyes, and glorious silver mane. 

But none of them even came close to my Carlos. He was smoke. He was magic. My husband, my lover, my life. 

He sat down next to me on the swing, picked up my hand, and kissed it. “Babe,” he murmured over my fingers, “I hope you didn’t give Alena too hard a time when she came over to help.” The corner of his lips twitched up in an almost-smile. 

I glared over at him, knowing he’d heard all about my fire incident already, had probably talked to Alena about it, and was laughing inside. The big rat-fink. 

He continued, his dark eyes gleaming, “Les and Renée are having people over for the World Cup game this evening. I thought we could go, and see their newest granddaughter Mirabel at the same time. What do you say?” 

Okay, so he wasn’t really a big rat-fink. I pretended to think about it, but really I wanted to go. I just wanted Carlos to persuade me. 

Knowing that about me, since apparently I’m still an open book, Carlos continued, “Babe, you’ll enjoy yourself. Les promises there will be a _ tres leches  _ cake from Green Street Bodega, which is your favorite.” He looked at me, an appraising smile in his eyes. “Oh, and I forgot to mention: Raul will be there with his guys, so that’s live music with  _ rumba  _ and maybe even  _ bolero _ .” He grinned at me, “He even learned that old Bon Jovi song you like.” 

Well, of course that clinched it. Raul was our youngest son—younger than both Alena and our other son Ricardo by quite a bit. And he was an outstanding musician who loved to play songs I could dance to.

I sometimes marveled at our lives. Back in the days when Carlos was saving me from exploding cars and knife-wielding maniacs every-other week, who would have guessed we’d someday be a retired couple with four children including Julie, seven grandchildren, and one great-grand on the way? 

And yet, here we were. Ricardo had taken over the reins and had run Rangeman for over fifteen years and had taken it global. Raul was engaged to be married. Cece, who was Alena’s eldest child, had just graduated college and gotten her very first apartment. And Julie’s eldest, Ron Carlos, was weeks away from giving us our first great-grandchild. 

Carlos raised his eyebrow, knowing my answer already as he looked into my eyes but still, as always, willing to wait and let me say it.

“Of course, Carlos. You know I’d go anywhere with you, especially since we can dance together.”

Smiling at my answer, he winked at me mischievously. “Looking pretty good there, Mrs. Mañoso.” His eyes, now a lovely molten chocolate brown, glanced slowly down my body, lingering a bit on my midriff, and then visually stroking down my legs all the way down to my feet, where they lingered for a moment. Then back up again to my face.

He continued, leaning in, his voice low and slow, caressing me with every word. “You know, I think you should give Cece the afternoon off.” His breath blew warmly, softly on my cheek. “I think that she doesn’t need to pick you up for your hair appointment, after all.” He reached behind me to pull my hair out of its clasp. “In fact, I think you should let me see what I can do with your hair instead,” he said, as he slowly ran his fingers through it, freeing the curls. I smiled, tilted my head back into his gently roaming fingers and let out a satisfied purr. 

With a wolf grin, he shrugged his silver eyebrows playfully and added in a low murmur, “Actually, I think you’ll be unavailable to go anywhere for a while, at least until dinner.” He glanced briefly over to the left of where we were sitting, which was the side of the condo where our bedroom was. 

Then he leaned in even further, with a low husky whisper that tickled my ear, “Also, you can tell Connie she’s free to give you more shoes just like those, anytime.”

Oh boy.


	2. Giving Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Giving Thanks" follows after "Where There's Smoke" later in the same year. Stephanie shows up to share a long-lasting sorrow and bring it home into the welcoming arms of family. I'm told it needs a bit of a tissue warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters and trademarks in these stories belong to their respective owners. This story is purely for entertainment with no profit, so there may be mistakes.

**Giving Thanks**

“So, Babe,” his voice echoed in my earpiece as I answered my phone. “I can’t help but notice that you’re not here.”

“Hi Carlos,” I smiled. “It’s almost scary how aware you are of your surroundings.”

“Smartass.” I heard the amusement in his voice. “Does he know you’re stalking him yet?”

This time I laughed. “You know as well as I do that he should have listened to you. I mean, you basically ordered him to come.” 

“Steph, he’s not a soldier anymore. He’s an 80-year-old man who does not want to be moved.” I heard him put his fob in the tray in the front hallway and then walk back to the kitchen. He was a little heavier on the cane, today; I could tell from hearing his gait. 

“And when has something like that ever stopped me?” I countered. “And besides, he’s not 80 years old; he’s 76 just like you.”

“Same difference, Babe. So, are you outside of his house, yet?” He turned the phone so I could see him in our kitchen. As I looked at my phone’s screen, I saw one silver eyebrow raised in amusement as he sipped from a bottle of water. 

“Okay Smartypants.” I answered, pretending to frown. “Yes, as I’m sure you already know, my flight got into Greensboro about a half hour ago.” After over 45 years of marriage, I was perfectly aware that he knew everything about me, even before I did. 

But I wondered if he actually knew where Tank lived. 

So I continued, “But, Carlos, here’s the thing. I just got to where his address says he lives, but it’s a vacant lot.” I looked over at the cab, which I was now paying to stay idling at the curb. The driver stared back at me. Probably he was waiting to see if I was going to turn into Urban-Guerilla Mary Poppins and pull a tent and a couple of folding camp chairs out of my purse. 

“I mean, take a look.” I held up my phone so Carlos could see where I was. “This is the address on Polk Street that you had in your directory. But unless he’s turned into a stray dog, I don’t think he lives here.” 

I heard Carlos pulling out his usual chair from the kitchen island. And I swore I heard a quiet but audible huff of air. In anyone else that wouldn’t register, but this was Carlos. Street name Ranger Mañoso. That sounded suspiciously like a snort. 

Suddenly this was very familiar. 

“Oh. No. Way.” I angled the phone to better see his face. “Tell me you don’t have a fake ‘parking lot’ address listed for Tank on your tablet.” He stared blankly back at me. The expression reminded me of our daughter Alena’s first cat when he was smug about having just hidden a mouse body in the dining room. 

I could see the sparkle in Carlos’ eyes that he was pretending to mask.

“Omigod, I can’t believe that I fell for that, after all these years.” I shook my head as I watched his lips curl slightly into a smile. “Does Tank even live in Greensboro?” I asked, incredulous, as I headed back to the taxi. “Did you know I was heading here the whole time?”

“The airplane ticket from Trenton to Greensboro was a slight clue, Babe.”

“Ughh!” I rolled my eyes and heard him chuckle.

“Get back in the cab, Steph. I’ll tell the driver how to get there.” 

The cabbie, probably disappointed that the tent and folding chairs were a no-show, opened the door again for me. After he got back in the driver’s seat, I put Carlos on speaker and he told the taxi driver where I needed to go. Apparently Tank did live on Polk, but it was Polk Lane and was in some unincorporated area about 45 minutes east of the city. 

When Carlos finished, the taxi driver asked, “You sure that’s where this lady’s expecting to go?” 

“Yeah, it’s cool.” Carlos answered. “We have a close family friend who lives there.” 

“Okay man. She’s paid the fare, so that’s where we’ll go.” He pulled away from the curb and started driving.

While the cabbie drove, I switched the phone back to its earpiece, and then Carlos and I talked. 

He told me about the set-up they completed today at the Veterans’ Center to prepare for tomorrow afternoon’s Thanksgiving meal. He’d be there bright-and-early again in the morning. I knew he was deeply satisfied that they’ll be able to have a full meal for veterans at the center and also weekend visits with the veterans staying at the VA hospital. 

He’d always been a good planner and motivator and was well-connected with donors. So they’d been able to do a lot more this year and I could tell Carlos was proud that he’d made a difference. At an age when most people would be settled into being grandparents, he’d taken an active role in the community. It sounded silly because he was my husband, but I was still inspired by him. 

As I chucked over how he resolved a comic mix-up in an order—was it 100 crates of forks or 100 crates of pork?—he asked me, “So, what should I tell Alena?” 

I knew what he was implicitly asking. Would I be back end-of-day tomorrow for Thanksgiving dinner? Our daughter Alena generously invited everyone in our family and also Les’ family. She’d been cooking for at least a week. She was practically giddy over the fact that her father and I would be there, along with her brother Ricardo and his family. It was our first Thanksgiving in Trenton, not Miami, for over a decade. 

In other words, translating quickly between the lines, I’d better be there. Fortunately, in an attempt to keep my daughter from having a panic attack that could register on the Richter scale, I’d already clued her into my plans. She knew I’d be arriving late, though I was absolutely determined that I’d be there for the holiday. 

I reassured Carlos and gave him the highlights of the dinner contingencies our daughter had planned, and he chuckled. “Glad to hear it.” He paused and the corner of his mouth was still tilted up in the mischievous smile that I loved. “But, so you know, I’m totally throwing you under the bus if you don’t show.” 

“Carlos!” I protested while laughing. “Okay, well that’s a deal. Just as long as you promise to give me excessive praise when I’m successful and back in time for dinner with my ‘plus one’.” 

“Depends on who the ‘plus one’ is, Babe.” He chuckled again. “But, there are two things in your favor, here. You always get your man and I always praise you.” His voice got lower. “There is one catch, though, Mrs. Mañoso. I seem to recall that you have some squeamishness about the children seeing you in certain situations, so the ‘excessive’ part will have to wait until we get home.” 

I felt myself blush, even though I was already starting to think of some of the things we could do during that “excessive” time together. “It’s a deal, Mr. Mañoso.” I smiled. 

At that point, I felt the cab take a sharp right turn. Suddenly our speed reduced and the car was bumping and swaying. I looked out the window; we were driving on dirt and gravel. Huge trees lined the road, with moss dangling from their branches and bushes crowding their trunks. When I spotted a fence made of logs, I suddenly imagined I’d next see Daniel Boone striding out to the road in frontier buckskins.

“Hey Carlos,” I tried to say quietly, “we seem to be driving in the back woods. Is that right?”

The cabbie looked in the rearview mirror. “This is Polk Lane, ma’am.” 

At the same time, Carlos answered “Yeah,Steph. Tank’s family lives out in the country. Unless it’s changed, you’ll drive a few miles through some old oaks and hickory trees, then there are clearings when you get close.”

“Jeez, I feel like I’m in a different century here.” 

“Yeah Babe, you kinda are. But you’ll be fine.” He smiled at me and took a final swig from his bottle of water. “I don’t know if you remember, but I’m headed to Haywood after I change my clothes. I’ll be with Ricardo and I’ll have my phone.” 

“Okay. Go have fun plotting against the bad guys. I’ll call later tonight.” 

He barked out a laugh, and then we ended the call just as the cab took another turn down a long drive with rutted wheel tracks. The cab swayed and shuddered as we drove, probably topping out at about 5 miles an hour at that point. The trees were now more like giant landscape features than a forest; I saw what Carlos meant by clearings. I could see a few houses in the distance, and another one at the end of the drive. 

As we got closer to that house, I could see a staircase and a wrap-around porch with a bunch of wooden furniture scattered on it. The house itself was a couple storeys tall with a few chimneys, and looked at least 100 years old. Probably older, though I wasn’t a good judge of these things. The paint had faded and it looked like it was built in stages; the left side looked newer than the right, and parts of the second storey had different sized windows than others. 

I looked back to the door, where a huge man filled the doorway. He looked like I remembered: tall, dark skinned, bald, and shoulders twice as wide as everyone else’s. The rest of his body matched his shoulders in size. The main difference was that he now had a paunch around his middle. That, and his beard stubble was silver. 

His icy glare, though, hadn’t changed one bit.

I got out of the cab, hitched my purse on my shoulder, and reached for my overnight bag. I heard Tank rumble, “I already told Ranger ‘no’.” 

The cabbie looked at me, hesitating to close the passenger door in case I might come to my senses and bolt out of there. Clearly he didn’t know me. I gave him a little finger-wave goodbye and started to walk up the path to the house. I heard the door close and then the cab started its bumpy passage back the way we’d come.

Looking up at Tank, I said, “Yeah, and telling Carlos ‘no’ might work, too. But when has telling _me_ ‘no’ ever worked? I rolled my bag to the stairs and started up. “I have two tickets on Amtrak tomorrow morning. We can spend the rest of the afternoon and evening catching up, and then take the train up to Trenton just in time for dinner.”

“And, I repeat. I told Ranger ‘no’.” Tank crossed his arms as he glared at me.

“And to quote my husband: ‘Your point is?’” I smiled up at him, then. Even though he was out-of-sorts, I was truly glad to see him. “Here’s the deal. You’re stuck with me until tomorrow morning. Then I’ll take the train back to Trenton. If all goes well, you’ll be with me. Otherwise, I’ll be having fun on the train all by myself and you’ll still be here sulking at what you’re missing.”

He shook his head, but finally uncrossed his arms and stepped back from the door. “All right. Well, come in then.” He turned slowly and started walking toward the back of the house, leaving me to follow. 

We ended up in the kitchen, a large room with wooden beams across the high ceiling. An old, darkened fireplace on the inside wall had hardware that looked like people might have actually cooked in it at one point. Alongside was a Formica counter on top of an old diningroom buffet. Then, on the next wall was one of those really wide, silver restaurant stoves and a double refrigerator. 

On the far wall, a sliding glass door opened the room to the countryside out back. I realized I’d lost myself in the view when I heard Tank pull a chair across the floor. “There’s cider in this pitcher, and coffee in the pot. Mugs in the cabinet above the sink.” I nodded, but remained transfixed by the vista of land out the door. 

Tank continued, “You know, I never appreciated that view until I moved back here. Used to be a small casement window on that wall.” I heard him grunt as he sat down. “It makes it a bit drafty back here, but it’s worth it.” He shrugged. “Kitchen gets too hot, anyway.” 

Seeing him at the table, taking a sip from a mug, I remembered how his massive hands dwarfed everyday objects so they looked like children’s playthings. But that’s not what startled me. It was that he looked old. Usually when I saw one of us—Carlos, Les, myself— saw someone who was vibrantly themselves, just inhabiting parchment skin and gray hair. 

When I looked at Tank, though, I saw an old man instead of an old friend. It wasn’t just the silver stubble or rheumy eyes, or even the slight tremor of his hands. No, it was the slump of his shoulders, the look in his eyes like he wasn’t really here with me. 

The floor squeaked under the linoleum as I walked back to the table. Sitting down, I said, “You’re right. It’s an amazing view. If I lived here I’d probably start and end my day right here, looking out. Some of those trees are huge; they must be really old.” 

After a moment he replied, eyes still focused far away, “Yeah, it’s old land. Been in our family since emancipation.” He paused for a breath. "But really it was our land even before that. Going back in the records, we can find our family living here since at least 1795.” He paused again. “There’s a ‘Pierre, blacksmith and stablehand’ listed in Beauregard family records back in 1807.”

I was touched, and a bit amazed, that he’d shared something so personal with me. An olive branch, of sorts. “That’s amazing, Tank. But, why don’t you like being called Pierre?” 

If I hadn’t been looking carefully, I might have missed the expression that chased quickly across his face. Then he shrugged. “Don’t mind it these days. When I was young, I didn’t want to be held down by all that history. After all, I only know about Pierre the blacksmith because he was listed as property in a will, to be inherited right along with the horses and saddles in the same stable where he worked. But, at least he got named and listed with a profession. Means he was important, back then.”

Tank leaned back. “But, mostly it was because ‘Pierre’ was a sissy name when I joined the Army. And, last but not least, Pierre Beauregard’s the name of a Confederate general, though at least he’s from Louisiana, not here.” 

He paused, still looking through the window. “But, to be honest, I’ve always liked that it means something in our family. I just didn’t particularly like having it as my own name. The name ‘Tank’ suited me better.” 

I smiled, understanding at least part of what he meant. I’d always liked my name, but I remembered hearing that I’d almost been named Edna, after my grandma. And, although I loved my Grandma Mazur and didn’t mind being associated with my family history of crazy, there’s no way I’d have wanted to go through life with what felt to me like an old-lady name. I’d have chosen an alias before second grade. 

I heard Tank snort. “Yeah, you’d have chosen Diana Prince, like Wonder Woman.” 

I laughed. “Out loud, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess some things don’t change, huh?”

I laughed and saw that Tank was finally looking at me. His face was calmer than before, though his eyes were assessing me. 

“Hey Tank, speaking of things that don’t change, do you have a place where I can go freshen up?”

He nodded slowly. “There’s a spare bedroom at the head of the stairs, first door on the right. The bathroom is the next door down the hall. There should be extra towels in the closet.” As I stood, he added, “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait down here. Those stairs are hell on my knees. Once in the morning and once at night are enough.” I nodded and grabbed my overnight bag, headed back to the stairs.

I’d remembered about his knees. Shortly before the mishap that had ended her life, Lula told me that he couldn’t really bend them anymore without pain. She’d said he was looking into knee replacements, and maybe some reconstructive surgery for the shin bone that hadn’t healed right. Eleven years later, I wondered if he never got the surgery because Lula wasn’t there to help him anymore.

I found the small but charming guest room, with its double bed and one of those thin, white tufted bedspreads. I located the towels and headed to the bathroom to wash my face. Some moisturizer, a light application of foundation and mascara, and I was set to tackle the rest of the day. In the hallway, of course I peeked behind several doors, finding other bedrooms but no sign of anyone living in them.

As I clattered back downstairs, I wondered how I was going to reach Tank. I saw what Carlos meant when he said that Tank was a man who didn’t want to be moved. My husband had unsuccessfully tried several times to get Tank to visit, even if only for a weekend. Well, I’d resolved that Tank was going to join us for Thanksgiving this year. Immovable object, meet irresistible force.

“Hi Tank,” I bustled back into the kitchen. “This house is even bigger inside than it looks from the front.” I grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured myself some cider before joining him at the table. 

He looked over to me and says, “Yeah. Too big.”

I paused, my mug halfway to my lips, and he sensed my confusion. “Too many rooms, too many stairs, not enough heating in the winter or AC in August.” He continued quietly. “My nephew's boy, Patrice, is busting out of their house a quarter mile down. I'm thinking of buying a double-wide and letting him have this house.” He took a long sip. “It's time for a new generation, and this old gal will appreciate having the voices of children again.” 

I nodded. “So, Tank, won’t you please come back with me for Thanksgiving? Just for the long weekend? With Alena, Ricardo, and Raul all with us, for once, it would really feel complete if you were there, too.” 

He sighed. “I’m sure you’ve figured this out, Bomber, but I’m not exactly the life of the party these days.” 

“Oh, c’mon Tank. If we wanted entertainment we’d hire a magician or rent one of those bouncy houses. What we want is to be together under one roof. With you there, too.” 

I thought back to when Thanksgiving had come to mean so much to me. It was when we lived in Brussels for a year, working with NATO. As we got closer to the date in November, I suddenly realized it wasn’t a European holiday. And, without it, November just felt cold. A season when the trees were bare and there was a whole month left before the bright lights and laughter of Christmas. 

Though Raul was still a baby, Ricardo and Alena were already in fourth and sixth grades, respectively. Well, whatever they called the grades in the French Academy they were attending. Anyway, they’d asked if we could give special thanks this year because their daddy had made it back safely from the dangerous mission that had started the NATO contract.

And yes, indeed, we were very much giving thanks. So I arranged for them to be out of school, I reached out the other US expats to find out where to buy yams and cranberry sauce, and we had Thanksgiving dinner in our townhouse in the Etterbeek district. It was still one of my favorite family memories, and this year Tank was going to join us. He just hadn’t figured it out yet. 

I heard Tank shift in his kitchen chair. He crossed his arms and then surprised me by saying, “Well, you’ve come all this way. I imagine you want to go visit Lula.”

I was momentarily at a loss for words as I tried to battle the tears that started welling up in my eyes. I finally managed to say, “Yes, Tank, that would mean a lot to me. If it’s possible.”

“Yep. Just down that path you see off to the right.” He levered out of his chair, and then we both went to the sliding door. Outside, we walked along the path, which was an old stone walkway that passed back into a wooded area. After what felt like about a half mile, we entered a clearing. 

The graveyard was old, with weathered stones and crosses in haphazard rows. Several large trees guarded the perimeter and a profusion of overgrown shrubs and plants probably scented the air with flowers in warmer weather. It was obviously maintained, but not a pristine landscape like where my folks were buried. I’d never before been to a graveyard on private land, but I liked it. It smelled of dirt, trees, grass. Like life. It was in the autumn of its days— just like us. 

He stopped in front of a modern headstone, one of the few in the yard. It was Lula. A large jasmine leaned over the stone from behind and plants surrounded it. A huge, fresh bouquet rested against the stone. Of course: It was the day before Thanksgiving so Tank had put flowers at her resting place.

I sighed. “I miss Lula, too, big guy.” I moved a bit closer to him and put my hand in his. “Whenever she could, she was always there for me. She was one of my best friends.” I was still battling tears but I’d gotten better at this. At my request, Carlos had taught me how to control my weeping to avoid distracting everyone at funerals. 

“The way she saw it, you saved her life.” Tank rumbled. “You didn’t care that she’d been a ‘ho. You looked at her and saw a friend.” After a long pause, he added, “I don’t know if I’d have been wise enough to look at her twice if I hadn’t seen her through your eyes first.” 

I squeezed his hand. “Well, she didn’t always make it easy.” I felt him chuckle slightly, though he didn’t make a sound. “But waiting for her to un-confuse herself was always worthwhile in the end. She and Mary Lou were the most loyal girlfriends I ever had.” 

Tank’s sigh was loud. He looked down at his feet. “Yeah, could’ve wished she’d have been a little less loyal, a little less protective.” He went to a nearby stone bench and sat down heavily. After a moment, I joined him. 

I knew what he was remembering. It was eleven years ago when Tank and Lula went out to get last minute supplies on the night before Thanksgiving. While checking out, Tank spotted a robbery in progress in the liquor store across from the North Trenton Quick Stop. He told Lula to stay behind, but she’d spotted a second gunman and rushed to the door to warn Tank. Of course, he had known about the second gunman, but couldn’t get a new line-of-site quickly enough after Lula had moved.

Carlos and I got the call at our daughter Julie’s house, just outside Miami. He’d chartered a flight that night, and we were in Trenton before the dawn. But, we were too late. Lula had passed away in the emergency room. We’d joined Les and our old friend Hal at Tank’s and Lula’s house, and stayed through the memorial ceremony. It took both Carlos and Hal to keep Tank standing after the service. 

For the burial, Tank brought Lula down here to his family home. He wouldn’t let any of us come with him, insisting that he needed to be alone with her for awhile. We also knew his sister Marie was ailing and he wanted to be with her. What we hadn’t realized at the time was that he planned to stay here, leaving Trenton and all of us behind. 

Meanwhile eleven years later, Tank and I sat lost in our memories as the sun started to set. The air was getting brisk, but nowhere near as chilly as nights in Trenton had been. The birds that had been twittering, fighting over berries in the bushes, finally stilled.

Tank startled me when he commented, “It’s this Friday, you know. The actual date.” 

I’d forgotten that. Thanksgiving is always a Thursday, not a specific calendar date, so I’d lost track of the date when Lula had actually passed. I squeezed his hand again. “Tank, thank you for bringing me here. I’m glad this is where Lula is. I feel so much better having visited. This feels like a place where she would have felt at home.” 

He nodded and was silent for awhile longer. Finally, he startled me again when he squeezed my hand back. “I just wasn’t ready for her to be taken home so soon, before me. Never imagined it that way.” After a long pause, he added in a low voice, “Getting cold out, we should go back.” 

As Tank used his arms to push himself off the bench, I looked behind us. The grave there was still fresh, a mound of dirt still exposed amidst the groundcover and autumn plants. Quietly I said, “I wish I’d gotten to meet your sister Marie.” Tank turned and glared at me. I knew it was supposed to be a forbidding look, but he should’ve known after all these years that a menacing glare wouldn’t deter me. “Tank, I know about Marie. I’m sorry.” 

“How?” he growled. 

“You know me; I’m nosey. I read the news online every day.” I remembered the moment I’d seen the obituary last weekend, that Marie Fletcher née Beauregard had died at 69 after a decade-long struggle with cancer, leaving her older brother Pierre and several cousins. 

I paused, squinting up at him, silhouetted in the sunset’s glow. “We’ve missed you, but I’m glad you got to spend time with her.” His eyes were glinting, this time from unshed tears. I started slowly down the path back to the house.

To give him time to compose himself, I kept talking. “You know, mostly I read about places that we’ve been, like Brussels and London. But I still have some of the search programs. Carlos pretends he doesn’t know, but our son Ricardo sometimes slips searches to me. He embarrasses his new hires telling them his mom is still the best at finding anyone, anywhere.” 

I remembered something that Tank might enjoy. “In fact, Ricardo once slipped me the ‘Jimmy Hoffa’ file as a joke, figuring it would keep me busy for months.” I heard Tank snort.

“Yeah, _thank_ you.” I replied. Remembering that day, I started to laugh. “I mean, sheesh, Carlos had to take his own son aside. I thought Ricardo was going to hyperventilate when Carlos told him that the three of us had solved that mystery within a few weeks, years ago. And that the ‘parties requesting the search’...” I finger-quoted the phrase, “demanded that the answer never get revealed after they found out where he really was.”

After a few steps, Tank asked, “Does Ricardo know?”

I snorted. “No, Carlos completely stonewalled him. Carlos said he swore to never tell the location. And that he never goes back on an oath. Ricardo argued with him, but Carlos wouldn’t budge.” I paused, still amused by the memory. “Of course, they’re peas-in-a-pod, so the conversation consisted of about four sentences stretched out over about a half hour while they both stared at each other with their hands steepled.” 

I heard Tank begin to chuckle, so I continued. “So, of course now Ricardo tries to trip me up, seeing if he can get me to fess-up where we found Hoffa. But it’s more of a joke at this point. He sometimes gives me cases to search where he’s doped the background to include obvious Hoffa details.”

Giggling, I added, “The best was when they had to dig up the septic tank in their yard this past summer. He sent me a photo of his sons Pierre and Ric Jr. standing next to the hole with shovels, still in their school uniforms and wearing a couple of huge Army Surplus helmets. It was captioned ‘Hoffa Hunters, the Next Generation’.”

At that, Tank burst into laughter, in earnest. I’d forgotten what an enveloping, bass laugh he had. I patted him on the back, looking toward the house that was finally in sight. It was wrapped in the cloak of evening darkness, gazing calmly out over the Beauregard land as it had obviously done for a couple hundred years. 

“If you come back to Trenton with me, you can see them too. Ricardo came up with his family from Miami to be with us. You can check out how much your namesake Pierre has grown. He’s 12, but almost as tall as I am.”

With no children of their own, Tank and Lula had been especially close to all our children when they were growing up. Lula told me that, when Ricardo called to say they were naming their son Pierre Carlos, it was one of the few times she’d seen Tank cry. It was one of the proudest days of his life. 

“Is Pierre still the only grandchild to have your blue eyes?” Tank asked.

“Yeah, the Mañoso soulful chocolate-brown won out over the Mazur baby blues in our kids and grandkids.” I laughed. “Everyone except for Pierre. We’re placing bets on our youngest, Raul, since his fiancée is blue-eyed and Irish. We’re thinking maybe, just maybe, we may see another blue-eyed Mañoso one of these days.” 

Tank laughed again, softer this time. 

“So, Tank. You’re coming back with me tomorrow morning, right?” 

He reached out to steady me on the path, which I was having difficulty seeing in the waning light. Darned cataracts. “Woman, you are relentless!” he objected through his soft laughter. 

“Yeah,” I smiled impishly. “You know me.” 

We got back to the house and I watched as he used the handrail to maneuver himself up the stairs. He didn’t hesitate in his approach; he was obviously used to doing this. In fact, I could see where he’d reinforced the handrail with metal hardware and plates to take his weight.

“Hey Tank,” I asked, “your knees; is that from when the federal fugitive in Barbados blew up the boat you were in?”

“Yup. Thirty years ago. Didn’t bother me for a long time. Now, it hurts almost more than it did back then.”

“Why don’t you look into knee replacements? The Rangeman supplemental policy covers it. I think I felt about twenty years younger after I got my right knee replaced. Les got his right shoulder replaced and, even though he was a big baby, he swears he’d do it all over again. And jeez, I remember you said that you had two grandparents and your great-grandfather who lived to be 100 years old. That’s a long time to have bad knees.”

“Just doesn't seem worth it, I guess.”

As I thought about what he’d just said, I stopped at the top of the stairs. I waited for him to reach the landing and get his balance. Then I put my hand over his on the railing. “Tank, _you’re_ worth it. To me. To us.” He pursed his lips in what Lula used to call his back-woods mule look. I wasn’t going to patronize him by saying that it’s what Lula would want too, though I knew that was true.

Instead, I just said, “ _You_ matter Tank. If you ever doubt that, you’re going to find me back here on your doorstep to tell you otherwise.” A cagy look briefly flashed under the otherwise forbidding expression on his face. “Yeah, okay, or you’ll find me at the doorway of your double-wide trailer. Or outside your yurt on the steppes.” I saw a bit of humor mix with exasperation on his face. “And you know I can do it too.” 

“Yeah, Bomber, you’ve always been a scary woman.” 

I put my hands on my hips and glowered at him. “So, Tank, go pack your bags. Our train leaves at 8:15 tomorrow morning.” He was still glaring, but I could tell this was a manufactured expression, not true anger. “Tank, you _know_ this is important to me if I’m getting up at 6:30 in the morning to catch that train.” He’d started to laugh under his breath when I added, “Meanwhile, I’ll look in your kitchen to see if there’s something I can throw together for dinner.”

He laughed a bit more loudly at that. I turned to scowl at him, thinking he was busting my cooking skills. But, he just shook his head. Obviously he still had ESP. “No, Steph. Your cooking’s fine by me. But I got you covered on that front. While you were freshening up, I fielded a mess of texts about who was in the cab. Patrice’s wife Leona should be here in about fifteen minutes with any number of pans and casseroles.”

“Oh jeez. I think I need to go and freshen up all over again.”

This time Tank put his hand over mine, as he led me back to the kitchen. “No need Steph. My family are all country folk. They don't much care how people look. It’s who you are inside that matters. He added with a small but relaxed smile, “All the heart you got inside, you already have everything that matters.”

Shortly after, I heard a truck crunching down the road, and then a tall, raw-boned woman let herself in the sliding glass door. She introduced herself as Leona as she handed me a large covered dish. Leona shooed me away as she started setting platters, plates, and silverware on the table. Meanwhile, a number of children of varying ages filed in with large covered bowls, pans, and a pie plate. Within ten minutes, a complete meal was arrayed on the table, on the stove, or in the refrigerator. Tank’s cavernous kitchen was suddenly full of life. 

I caught Tank’s eyes as he looked around, nodding to himself. Leona stepped away from the table and turned to me. “Now if you need anything you ain’t got here, just have Uncle Pierre give us a call.” She then led the children in a round of “Nice to meet you,” as she pointed them back toward the door.

Puzzled, I asked, “But wait, aren’t you staying to eat with us?”

She smiled kindly, “Nah, just for y’all. Just want to make sure Old Uncle don’t waste away now Auntie Marie ain’t here.” She patted Tank on the arm as she shepherded the remaining children through the door. With that, they were gone, and I heard my stomach growl. Tank looked at me with amusement, shaking his head.

“Bomber, let’s feed the beast.” He chuckled into the silence and sat down. We pulled out and arrayed our various pills on the table like the old folks we were, and then filled our plates. As we ate, I caught him up on news he’d missed over the years. By the time we finished eating and put everything away, I was ready to sleep. But, I wasn’t done yet. 

So, after Tank finished his slow, rolling motion up the stairs, I grabbed his arm. “You _are_ going with me tomorrow morning, right?” 

“Yeah, Bomber. I know I don’t stand a chance against any plan that you’d travel all this way to put in motion. When I found out you’re getting up at 0630 tomorrow morning, I knew I was sunk.” 

I laughed and said goodnight as I entered the guest room. Tucking into bed, I reached for the phone to call Carlos just as his ringtone sounded. I answered, smiling, and smugly told him that I’d be ‘plus one’ tomorrow evening. I also told him about the peace I felt at finally getting to visit Lula’s final resting place. He nodded, glad for me, and then quietly shared that both of Ricardo’s sons would be joining him tomorrow at the Veteran’s Center, along with Alena’s youngest son Marco. 

I could tell he was proud. And I was so happy for him. I remember from my own childhood that those are the things that become memories for a lifetime. As we ended the call, Carlos said he’d arrange for someone to pick us up tomorrow morning at Tank’s, and again at the Trenton Transit Center tomorrow evening. When I put my head on the pillow, I knew I would fall asleep in seconds. 

The next morning, the promised limo appeared at Tank’s door like clockwork, and we rode to the train station in the quiet early morning. We boarded the first-class car and settled in for the trip. It was going to be several hours— we wouldn’t arrive until after 6pm. But I knew that Tank couldn’t easily maneuver in airplanes anymore. I’d brought magazines, my tablet, and a game console to keep me occupied. 

After a little over an hour, Tank went to the club car to get some food. And probably to get away from my fidgeting. Sitting still for hours has never been my best thing. I put in the phone’s earpiece and called Carlos. As he answered I heard clattering and muffled shouting, and then a door closed. 

“Hey.”

“Hey Carlos. What’s going on? You already hard at work?”

“You know it, Babe.” As he answered, I checked out his image on my screen. He was wearing an old, long-sleeved Army T-shirt fitted comfortably against his still broad frame, standing in what was clearly a storeroom.“Nothing to keep me in bed late, today,” he said, eyebrow raised, with that slight smile that I loved.

“You know, same here. I was so bored that I decided to get up at 6:30 for coffee. Did you know that the sun is actually up then?” I smiled at my own joke. 

“Good to know,” I heard him chuckle under his breath. Then he acted like he was trying to see behind me on the phone. “So, looks like Tank has Amtrak furniture.” 

“Very funny, ha ha.” I answered, rolling my eyes. “I am happy to report that Tank and I are on the train, speeding our way back to Trenton even as we speak. We just passed Durham.” I said, proudly. Then I added, with a snort, “He’s wandered off to buy out the food-guy in the club car. Eating enough for four Steph-sized people at dinner last night apparently was just something to tide him over ‘til the next meal.” 

Carlos tilted his head minutely and I saw humor glinting in his eyes. “So, club car? Or rabbiting from the luggage car?” 

I snorted again, shifting in my seat so I could gaze out the window, just in case.... “First off, who gets out of bed that early and comes all this way with a big suitcase, just so he can tumble his geriatric ass painfully out of a train in the middle of nowhere?” Carlos tilted his head back and forth slightly, as though thinking about the question. His eyes were still gleaming with humor.

“Okay. Well maybe before I let him leave the car I made him swear an oath that he wouldn’t try to escape.”

Carlos chuckled. “So, have you told Tank yet about the house down the street?”

“What house?” I asked innocently.

"The one that’s about to be listed for sale. The one you've looked into buying without letting me know." I heard the amusement in his voice. "The one that’s like ours, without any stairs." 

I rolled my eyes. “It was just a casual conversation.” He looked at me, one silver eyebrow raised again. “Well, so maybe I talked to the realtor, who happened to be there, about how much flexibility they had in the price and what the down-payment would be. But… okay, no I haven’t mentioned that to Tank.” I pretended to be angry. “Or to you, either, for that matter. Sheesh!”

He smirked, and then I heard a crash that made Carlos look over his shoulder at the storeroom door. He looked back at me and said, “Hey, I think I have to go get the troops back in line. We start serving at 1130 and I think we have some pre-battle jitters out there.” 

I laughed and then added, “Just promise me you’ll get someone to take your picture wearing the serving apron later. You know that seeing you in charge in the kitchen gets me all in a state.” I felt myself biting my lower lip. I couldn’t help it; seeing my large, hardened husband preparing meals in the kitchen has always made me weak in the knees. 

“Steph.”

“Okay, okay. Go take care of the recruits. Say ‘hi’ to the kids for me.”

He smiled. “Will do, Babe. Tell Tank that he’s booked for the VA hospital visits tomorrow.” He smirked as he angled toward the door behind him. “Tell him if he gives you any trouble on the train, I’ll put him on Lester’s team.” 

I laughed again as he ended the call. After that, I gazed absently out the train window, watching the neighborhoods and countryside roll by. Tank eventually returned with a large bag full of food. When he pulled out a small box of donuts and a coffee for me, I told him that he always was my favorite Merry Man. His booming laugh filled the train car.

Hours later, after a world-class nap, the train pulled into Trenton station. Tank quickly assembled our bags in the aisle and we made our way out of the train. It had gotten noticeably colder since when I left yesterday, and had just started snowing when we stepped outside. The first snow of the year. I saw Tank look up and mutter, “Fuck.” 

“Jeez Tank, you’re such a curmudgeon. This is magic. It’s the first snow of the year, the promise of all the snowmen, snowball fights, and sledding of the season. And it’s falling on Thanksgiving. This is too perfect.” I reached out to catch some flakes on my hand. “It’s beautiful. We’re in a frosty Thanksgiving snow-globe.” 

I heard him mumble, “It’s the first snow of the year, the promise of falling on your ass and having car accidents for months. And Bomber thinks it’s beautiful.” 

I laughed again. “Tank, how long have you known me? Of course I think it’s beautiful. Stick around and I’ll convince you.” I smiled as I spotted our Rangeman driver, who took our bags and helped us into an SUV. Tank didn’t stand a chance. I knew this: He’d be loving snow again, soon. Even if only from inside a toasty room looking out through a window.

Later I could explain to him about how we could spend the winter where it’s warm—Miami for us, Greensboro for him—and then convene back home in Trenton in the spring. For now, he was here, and that was enough. 

After the short ride from the train station, we arrived at Alena’s house where cars filled the driveway and clustered along the curb. The house itself was well-lit, warm light glowing from the windows. Even though the house was closed against the chill, I could hear the sound of conversation and laughter from the sidewalk, along with music in the background. 

As Tank readied his rolling motion to climb up the stairs, I saw a silhouette behind the door’s frosted glass and drape. It opened, and my daughter Alena stood there. Her face lit immediately. Instead of seeing a 45-year-old woman, it was like she was suddenly five years old again, viewing the Christmas tree first thing in the morning. “Uncle Tank, Uncle Tank! You came!” She rushed down the stairs and hugged him, joy on her face. 

Gruffly, but with a smile, Tank replied, “Baby girl. Now what’s all this fuss about?” 

I saw more faces in the doorway. My granddaughter Cece let out a squeal and then clattered down the steps to join her mother. She remembered Tank, too, from when she was a little girl. Then my son Ricardo stepped into view with his sons and started to smile. 

Behind him, I saw Carlos in the doorway. As I caught his eyes, he smiled his full 200-watt smile, just for me. I smiled back and he winked. Over the hubbub, I saw him mouth “Babe, you never disappoint.” 

I felt my heart swell with pride. And with the happiness of being surrounded by my family. It was going to be the best Thanksgiving yet. 


	3. Welcome to the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Welcome to the Family’ occurs sometime between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Eve. At this point in their lives, Stephanie and Ranger are “snowbirds” and spend the winter in Miami near the growing families of their son Ricardo and daughter Julie. This is another story that may require tissues, but this time for the fond memories and the deep feeling of joy that family can bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters and trademarks in these stories belong to their respective owners. This story is purely for entertainment with no profit, so there may be mistakes.

**Welcome to the Family**

We had just made our way through the security exit at Miami International Airport when I saw Julie’s tall form sprinting toward us from the escalator. Still slim and elegant, her shoulder-length brown hair laced with a few ribbons of silver-gray, she was normally as economical in movement as her father. So it was a bit startling to see her bumping into people as she halted suddenly in front of us.

“Steph, Ranger.” She reached a hand out to each of us in an abbreviated greeting, taking a moment to puff a quick breath in-and-out. “We have to go. Mia’s in labor.”

If I couldn’t already tell that she was agitated by the fact that her daughter-in-law was in labor, the fact that she’d reverted to calling her father “Ranger” was a good indication.

Of course, I would always be Steph, or Grandma Steph these days. Partly that was my choice; Julie had gotten used to calling me Steph for a couple of years before I felt even remotely comfortable answering to "Mom.” Mostly, though, I’d chosen to remain “Steph” in deference to Julie’s birth mother Rachel, who clearly wanted to be the only "Mom" in Julie’s life.

But, Carlos had let Julie get closer to him in her early teens, at which point Julie had insisted on calling her father “Papi” instead of Ranger. Her stepfather Ron had remained “Dad” until his recent death, and rightfully so. But Julie had claimed Carlos, too. And intentionally chosen to call him “Papi” since that's what Carlos had called his own father as a child. Rachel hadn’t liked it, but even back then Julie was immovable when she had her mind set. So Ranger became Papi, and that was that.

Except today.

She grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the exit, as though she was again that same teenager who I had been remembering.

“Julie, wait. Is Mia in the car?” I planted my feet as I saw Carlos pause to look around.

“No, no she’s at the hospital.” Julie was still tugging on my hand.

“Why are we in such a hurry, then?” I asked, looking down the hallway toward the main terminal, where an escalator would take us down to the luggage pickup. And, yes, where there was a sit-down enclave of my favorite coffee and pastry chain, and also a bathroom for afterward.

“Steph, she’s almost three weeks early,” she said, staring pointedly at me.

“So… because her baby’s in a hurry we have to be, also?” I wasn’t trying to be flip, but I really wasn’t getting it. Meanwhile, Carlos had shifted a quarter-turn away, and was speaking softly into his phone.

Julie had started pulling on my hand again. “Steph! Nobody’s there with her. Everyone’s out of town.” She tugged again, with a slightly frantic look in her brown eyes. Well, she had a crease between her brows and was slightly out of breath. But, in Julie, that look was rare enough to telegraph concern.

Ah, now I was starting to understand. “Okay, where’s RC?” This seemed to be the first order of business, since Ron Carlos— RC for short— was Mia’s husband and Julie’s son. The fact that he was famously devoted to his wife was the cause for a lot of ribbing within our extended family. The fact that he wasn’t there with Mia was like saying that the moon had decided to wander off and visit Mars for awhile.

“Ugh,” Julie rolled her eyes. I had a moment of smug pride, since I knew this Miami girl had picked up that most-excellent New Jersey habit from me. “He’s driving Mia’s mom from San Diego. Bianca refuses to fly.” She huffed out a sigh that blew hair from her face, then met my probably confused look with an annoyed glance. “Ugh. Don’t ask.” 

I knew that she was good at giving her children space, so this must really be a cause for contention. Looking to change the direction a bit, I asked, “So, where’s Mark? Or is he still in Panama?” Mark Salazar, Julie’s husband, was a wonderful man, though he usually spent at least one week a month out of the country on business.

She nodded. “Panama. I got the rest of the week off work, and the girls are coming from New York tomorrow, but...” She gazed left and right at the people who were now swirling around us, on their way to the luggage pick-up. “Listen, we have to get going. I had Ramón double-park outside. He said he has that Homeland Security badge that all the Rangemen have these days, but airport security may still make him move along.” 

I remembered Ramón. Well over six feet tall with bleached hair and a jutting chin, he reminded me of Edge from the World Wrestling shows that used to play in the Rangeman off-duty room, way-back-when. Between his imposing looks, and the fact that the new Miami Rangeman SUVs looked like armored-assault, missile-carrying Range Rovers, I really doubted a minimum-wage airport security guy was going to “move Ramón along” anytime soon.

Well, not unless he had some John McClane “Die Hard” DNA somewhere in his family. Probably he was more like one of the hapless airport rent-a-cops that tried to hem-in John McClane with regulations. But even if this one was extra heroic, our John McClane wannabe was up against the dense armor cladding in those new Rangeman SUVs. He would need to air-drop one of those tow trucks they use to drag buses and tractor trailers. 

As I started imagining how big a helicopter would be needed to pick up and deliver one of those monster tow trucks, I saw that Carlos was off the phone and had an amused look on his face. Well, he had a slight tilt to his lips and his eyebrow was raised. It was the knowing, slightly devilish look I remember falling in love with, back when I still called him Ranger. 

I was sure he was trying to imagine where my thoughts had gone. And, like me, he also was relishing the image of some hapless guy in a fake uniform trying to roust Ramón from his curb. Probably, though, his thoughts ran more toward how Ramón could reverse handcuff and stun the poor fellow in less than 30 seconds, using the guy’s own equipment against him. 

And then deliver him trussed-up to the government flunky about whom both Carlos and our son Ricardo complained. The “suit” who kept turning down the Rangeman bid to handle airport security in major port cities like Miami. That would definitely get a full-on Carlos smile.

He turned to look at me. “Steph, go with Jules. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Ramón is arranging for someone else to come. I’ll pick up my weapons bag and cane, and then we’ll get the luggage and join you.”

Julie suddenly looked worried. “Papi, you have your cane already....” 

I knew she was imagining that Carlos was starting to lose his memory, the way Ron had slipped into a world of forgetfulness in the last year of his life. Ron had been over ten years older than the rest of us, though, so that wasn’t surprising when it happened. But it had been traumatic to Julie, since Ron had always been one of her pillars.

Before I could react, Carlos said gently, “It’s my other cane, Jules, the metal one.” 

“Yeah, it’s his Mr. Steed cane,” I added, trying to get Julie back on an even keel. Also, I figured I’d share one of my favorite jokes. “It’s the one with the built-in knife and the brass knuckles that detach from the handle, for all of your father’s derring-do adventures in retiree-land.” From the corner of my eye I could see Carlos looking smug. Jeez, he loved that cane. 

Julie was looking a bit calmer, too, with a grin starting on her face. I figured I didn’t need to elaborate on how the cane also had a taser, a six-shot projectile chamber, and was heavy enough to use as a staff. She could probably guess that on her own. It was enough that Julie now understood why her father had a second cane, and was reassured that he wasn’t going into a fugue of amnesia in the airport lobby.

With that, Julie straightened her shoulders and focused on me. “Okay, Steph, let’s go. I’ll fill you in during the drive.” Ah, Julie was back in her zone. Lester had dubbed her “Little Miss Staff Sergeant” when she was in her teens and, though she’d hated the nickname, it had been spot-on. Looking at Carlos, she wrapped up, “We’re headed to Plantation Hospital. Papi, we’ll see you there.” 

She reached out her hand to grasp his arm, and he covered her hand with his larger one. Never physically demonstrative with each other, this was their private moment of caring. “Stay safe, Jules, I’ll see you there.” Carlos patted her hand and then let go. As she nodded at him, he pulled me into a one-armed embrace. “Be nice to the hospital staff, Babe.” He pressed a soft kiss against the top of my head.

I chuckled briefly. “I will, but you know it’s me.” I paused for effect. “In a hospital.” 

I could feel Carlos’ silent laughter against me. “Steph, the pandemonium factor has been much reduced. Just don’t punch anyone until I get there.” 

“Ugh.” I rolled my eyes and shrugged out of his embrace. “Okay, Julie,  _ now  _ I’m ready to go.” 

I heard Carlos’ bark of laughter as we turned toward the exit. “Don’t go crazy, Babe.” I finger waved at him behind my back, as I went.  _ Funny, ha ha _ . I'd only punched a couple of people in the hospital, and he knew it. Well, on reflection, I guess it was a reasonable warning. But, I knew he said it just because he found it amusing. And because he knew I'd pretend to have a snit so he could make it up to me later.

While I was thinking about some really excellent ways that Carlos could make it up to me, Julie and I stepped through the sliding door into the muggy heat of Miami. Holy cow, after leaving the snow in Trenton, it was like stepping into the world's hottest laundromat. I knew I'd get used to it by tomorrow, at which point I'd be living for the sun. 

At that particular moment, though, I was still dressed for the airplane and acclimated to winter weather. I could feel the hint of sweat beginning to bead along my hairline, and my hair was starting to frizz. So, I was glad to see Ramón waiting right outside the door with the SUV. At the same time, he spotted us and reached over to open the passenger door. 

“Hi, Mrs. M. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you," Ramón said as he helped me into the back seat. 

" _ Hola _ Ramón.” I smiled up at him. “Glad to see that airport security didn't drag you off to double-parking jail." Laughing, he closed my door and then loped to the other side where Julie was sliding into the other passenger seat. After closing her door, he angled himself into the driver's seat. 

Turning around to look at us, his silver aviators providing tiny reflections of Julie and me, Ramón briefly shrugged. “So... road construction delays today and they still have 91 closed. I have a couple tricks up my sleeve, but it’ll still take almost an hour to get there.” He flashed a brief smile. “So, settle in, ladies.” After a nod to both of us, he faced forward again and started maneuvering us out into traffic.

Julie shook her head. “It’s so frustrating. I was glad when I realized that Rangeman and the airport both were on my way to the hospital. But traffic is just impossible.” 

I understood what she meant. On one hand, an hour was a ridiculous amount of time given the actual distance to Plantation, especially given that all modern cars had active-route sensors. But I knew it was true. 

Mostly, it was because there was really only one reasonable road between here and there, given all the construction still underway after Super-Hurricane Tim last August. Too bad the people who named hurricanes didn’t know in advance which ones were okay to have “PTA parent” names like Tim, versus which should have more suitable names, like Thanatos, Two Face, or Tony the Torpedo. Well, I guessed it proved yet again that you could never judge a person—or a storm—based on their name.

But, anyway, shortly after Ramón had eased us onto 95, progress slowed to a crawl. Usually it didn't get this slow until the interchange up by Golden Glades. After that it was usually smooth driving again until near the Fishing Hall of Fame by Fort Lauderdale, my favorite landmark. 

At least, thanks to Rangeman, we were in air conditioned comfort, with an entertainment console and bottled water. And, of course, panels on the floor that hid shackles. A good thing, in case we decided to corner any skips while we were out. Ah... the memories. I couldn't help but smile.

I was brought out of my musings by a flicker of movement; it was Julie, brushing strands of hair away from her face with her long fingers. It reminded me of the fierce, loyal little girl she was when I’d first met her. When she’d stood, at half her current height, defending her father with a gun, strands of hair defiantly streaked across her face. Or when she’d stood by his side in the hospital before having to leave, pulling back her long, dark hair and refusing to cry. 

I felt love for her wash over me, anew. She was as much my child as those I’d borne from my body. I knew that she’d face challenges without words, that she’d simply gather her resources around her and charge forward. I reached out to touch her hand.

I paused for a second to center myself. “So, Julie. Is Mia okay? Is that why we’re in such a hurry to get there?” I paused again, marshalling my courage. “You can tell me, hon. I’m here now.”

She turned to look at me, and put her hand briefly over mine. “Oh Steph, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. Mia’s okay. It’s just… well, this is my first grandchild.”

I nodded for her to continue. She looked away for couple moments, pensive, and then back at me. “I just don’t want her to be alone. She should have family there.” Another pause. “I remember how worried you were about going into labor early, but I don’t know what that’s like. Ron Carlos was exactly on time, and the twins were running late so they induced me.” 

Julie smiled briefly, then shrugged. “Well, I guess my first granddaughter is as eager to get a start on things as Alena was, when you gave birth to her.” 

I shook my head at the thought “Jeez, I just hope it's  _ nothing  _ like when Alena was born.” She was my first baby. I still remember Les rushing me to the hospital when my water broke unexpectedly during dinner with Julie at his off-site apartment. While he was on the phone trying to reach Bobby, who had practiced as my birthing coach, I’d hoisted my duffle from my car. He then bundled us both into his SUV and broke numerous driving laws to get us to the hospital. 

On the way, as Les helpfully yelled at me to wait until we got to the hospital to have the baby, like it was something I could turn off temporarily. I’d fought a full contraction and really started to worry. It was almost three weeks before my due date, and I said a silent prayer that the baby was okay. 

Which had caused my broader worries to kick in. Carlos was late coming back from a mission. Almost a month late. I had been a nervous wreck. Never mind that I had also been anxious that he’d return and decide that having children wouldn’t work for him, after all. 

We’d only found out I was pregnant two weeks before he’d been scheduled to leave on the final mission of his contract. We hadn’t planned it; neither of us was even sure we wanted children. So, even though he’d been calm and supportive before he left, my hormones weren’t convinced. He’d been out of direct contact the whole mission, leaving me to wonder if this would be like Rachel and Julie, all over again.

Of course, having Julie visiting Trenton, back then, probably helped stoke those particular concerns. A precocious 13 years old, she’d been lively and visibly happy to be with me. I’d been glad she’d come on her pre-arranged visitation, even though her father wasn’t back. Really, it had been a relief having her there to take my mind off everything else.

But at that moment, I’d suddenly found myself on the way to the hospital, doubled over from a contraction, worried about who could take care of Julie. Perhaps I could convince my sister Val to take her home to be with her girls while I was at the hospital. I had considered asking Les, but he was more than a bit frantic. In any case, she’d been along for the ride. And, it turned out, she’d been in the room the whole time.

Meanwhile, in the here-and-now, Julie and I were in a different SUV driving to a different birth; one that put Julie on the verge of being a young grandmother. Julie pulled out two bottles of water and handed me one. She looked at me, her almond-shaped eyes wide. “Steph! How could you want anything different? Alena’s birth was one of the best experiences of my childhood.”

Still half-remembering that frantic drive to the hospital decades ago, I squinted at her. “You're joking, right?”

“Really, I'm serious. That was when I realized that it was okay to be an adult.”

I rolled my eyes. “Surely you jest,” I paused for a sip of water. “I don't think a single person in that room was an adult. Except Bobby. And, maybe the doula, though she looked anywhere between 16 and 30 years old, so who could tell?”

“Yeah, but think about it. There were so many different ways to be nuts and still manage to successfully get a healthy baby born... I guess it meant that maybe I didn't have to be perfect, and could still make it.” 

“Maybe, but I’ll confess that I was really worried that we'd permanently lose visitation rights as soon as you got home from that little trip.”

“C'mon, Steph, I was 13 but I wasn't stupid. I knew mom would've gone ballistic if I came back and told her I’d pretended to be 15 so I could stay there in the room, and that I’d been there for the birth.” She smiled briefly. “Okay, maybe she’d have been fine hearing stories like when Uncle Les belly-flopped on the exercise ball in your birthing room, rolled half across the room, and then fell off in front of the nurse who came to check your dilation.”

She chuckled and I had to join her. I had forgotten that, but it was an excellent moment in maternity mayhem. I’d have to remind Lester about that the next time we talked.

Julie shook her head slightly and continued, “But, then I’d have to tell her that I’d been there for everything, and that I got to see the baby crown. There was no way I would tell her that.”

“Oh, jeez. Probably we  _ should  _ have lost visitation rights after that.”

“No Steph. Maybe if it was some other kid.... But really, it was liberating. Let's face it: Mom was always going to spend my childhood fencing me in. Before she died, she pretty much admitted that she had overcompensated with me to keep my father’s psycho-killer genes in check.” She paused a beat, then added, “Kinda quoting from her there, actually.” 

Ah, the old wounds sometimes linger. I knew all about the mother/daughter thing. "You know, Julie, your mom loved you very much. Even if she was sometimes overprotective, she did the best she could." 

“I know.” Julie paused, looking into the distance. “But, sometimes it was hard seeing how soft she was with my little sisters. I was the only one who had to be perfect.” Looking back at me, she shrugged slightly and added, “But, you know, I made my peace with that a long time ago.”

Reaching up to brush more wayward strands of hair from her face, she continued, “My dad, Ron, helped make it alright. And it made a big difference to have a second family—you and Papi—where I fit in. Where I actually looked like someone else in the family. Where I could just be  _ me _ , and that was fine.”

She then smiled, a little mischievously. “And, let’s face it: It was great to be surrounded by people on-the-fringe who made me seem normal. Like your grandma, for instance. Or like your sister Val, who kept trying to read out-loud from that awful book about what to expect during birth, until you ripped it out of her hands and threw it out the door.” 

I snorted. I’d forgotten about that book. Like I’d needed to hear about how painful contractions would be while I was right in the middle of them. It was the worst combination of boring and frightening. Even Val had later admitted it was a stupid idea to read that particular book. I remember I’d almost beat Val over the head and shoulders with it before I pitched it as far as I could throw. 

“Julie, see that’s what I meant, before, about there not being any adults in the room that day. Okay, I’ll admit that I was in another reality; I think I was having graphic fantasies about the anesthesiologist and his wonderful painkillers. But I still can’t believe that three adult women with experience in these things—my mom, sister and grandmother—couldn’t figure out that maybe this wasn’t a suitable place for a 13 year old.”

"You already know the answer to that," Julie said wryly. She raised her eyebrow, looking just like her father for a moment. "Tell me: How many years did they let Mary Alice eat like a horse at the dinner table?"

I snorted again. "Yeah, you're right." I paused for a sip from my water. "With my family in the birthing room, I guess I'm just lucky they didn't turn it into a musical and post it on the internet."

Julie laughed at that. Then she turned slightly in her seat so she was more fully facing me. “But really Steph, I meant it. That was one of the best experiences of my life. I got to be there,  _ right  _ there, when a brand new baby had her first cry. My own little sister.” 

I remember being horrified after I realized that Julie had been in the room during all the indignities of childbirth. And, especially that she’d been there through all the blood, after having watched her father almost shot to death. I puffed a breath out and reached out for Julie’s hand. “Hon, I thought we'd scarred you for life.”

After a pause, she shrugged and then I saw a wicked smile spread over her face. “Really the  _ only  _ thing that I  _ really  _ didn't need to know—that could have potentially sent me to a shrink for years—was when you elaborated on how big my father's dick was. But, at least you got  _ that _ whole discussion out of the way before he arrived.” 

“Omigod,” I moaned as I took my hand back and covered my face. I remembered now: This was the reason people really forget everything about childbirth. It’s not just the pain; it’s the totally embarrassing stream of regrettable things that you yell for all to hear.

“No Steph,” Julie reached over to pull my hands away from my eyes. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Great, I must have said that part out-loud, too. I could see Ramón’s shoulders shaking from silent laughter in the front. This was just getting ridiculous. I started thinking about whether I could use my panic button to get another Rangeman driver to pluck me out of Ramón’s car. Or, maybe they could lower a ladder from a helicopter. Maybe they could take me to a safe house where I could hide for the next decade. 

“Really Steph. In retrospect it was pretty funny. Your mother and Aunt Val were off on one of their cafeteria runs to get more food for everyone. So, after you shouted that you had never imagined that anything larger than ‘that’ would ever be in ‘you-know-where’ your grandma kept asking you for graphic details. You know, like which type of kielbasa sausage it was. You both were really on a roll, and your dad had a completely horrified look on his face. Poor Grandpa Frank.” 

I moaned briefly, imagining where my grandmother could have taken that particular discussion. Julie paused in her laughter, adding, “Uncle Les looked like he was going to barf. He completely forgot to help you with your breath count. That’s when Uncle Bobby finally arrived. He stood like a statue in the doorway for about a minute, then just reached in, grabbed my arm, and yanked me out of the room.” 

“Thank God.”

“No, actually it had just gotten interesting and I was really pissed at him.” She laughed again, this time with a self-satisfied look on her face. “He had bruises on his shins for a couple weeks where I kicked him, trying to get back into the room. I finally ditched the nurse and snuck back in behind your mom. I got a reprieve because Bobby had taken over the breathing with you. He’d realized that you needed to switch to the really complex pattern to get your mind distracted. So he was busy.”

I shook my head, partly in denial, partly to clear it from all those images. “Well, I’m glad that somehow it all worked for you, though it’s still not right that we subjected you to all of that.” I blew out a sigh, then something she’d said came back to me. “But, wait, back up. This has always confused me. Why were my mom and Val getting food? I couldn’t have any, and I almost broke Les’ finger when he started eating a granola bar in front of me close to the end. What did they  _ do  _ with the food they bought?”

She laughed again. “You actually did dislocate Uncle Les' finger." She paused for a sip of water. "They arranged food in the visitor lounge and dragged people out of the room to eat, one-and-two at a time. Your mom set up one of the coffee tables like it was a banquet, with the styrofoam containers and plastic forks all arranged in neat rows.” I started laughing at the image as Julie continued, “Oh, forgot the best part: She made a runner along the middle of the table from a row of those shiny pages from the Sunday magazine.” 

We both laughed at that. Julie wiped her eyes, and then tapped me on the back of my hand. “Steph, your mom was fierce. She whacked both Val’s and my hands when we tried to adjust the pages. But it was really funny. There were glossy photos of people under all the food. I have a vivid memory of an “Out of Addiction” story peeking from behind the carryout plate that had cake and brownies piled on it. There, staring right at the desserts, was a picture of one of those druggie starlets of the time, like Lindsay Lohan. It was surreal.”

I was doubled over laughing at that point. Yup, that was definitely my family. “So, is that why everyone smelled like meatloaf and cake? I thought I was hallucinating.”

“Nope, you were right. But, okay, here’s what I never could figure out. Where did you get those TastyKakes? Now that I’ve had kids of my own, I  _ know  _ that those were contraband.”

“I grabbed them at the last minute from my car, as we were leaving Les’ place, and made him stuff them in his shirt. I knew they don’t let you eat during labor. But seriously, this is me. If I was going to be in pain, straining like a lady weightlifter for hours on end, I knew I needed some serious nutrition.” 

Thank God I’d had the foresight to do that, too. Nobody in that room needed to deal with me in labor  _ and  _ hungry. 

“Ohhh,” Julie said, like I’d just explained one of the great mysteries of life. “That’s why Uncle Les threw on that ugly running jacket at the last minute. I thought the pockets were stuffed with tissues or something. I remember thinking that he looked like he had a sympathy baby bump.”

"Poor Les," I laughed. “He was such a good guy throughout the whole thing. He wasn't even supposed to be there. If Alena wasn't in such a hurry, he would have been safely on vacation in Hawaii and Bobby wouldn't have needed to break land-speed records to get back from Manhattan." 

She smiled and put her hand lightly on my knee. “It all worked out, Steph. It was all good, in the end.”

I nodded. “Yeah, Julie, you’re right. Somehow everyone got to where they needed to be, and it all came out right.” I put my hand over hers before she could remove it from my knee. “And, Alena was born, safe and sound, despite being three weeks early. You’ll see: Mia and her daughter will be fine too.” 

Julie just nodded, and then looked out the window. Ramón had clearly pulled one of those tricks he’d mentioned out of his driving sleeves. He’d pulled off the main road, and we were now weaving through blocks of coral and aqua houses. 

I gazed as it all rolled by. It’s funny how neighborhoods change over time. I remembered this particular area from when I was in my thirties. Back then, it had been a bit dodgy, but now it was trendy. At least one formerly snooty neighborhood in South Beach had gone the other way. Plantation, where we were headed, had flipped back and forth a couple of times. 

I was pulled out of my thoughts by Julie. “Steph?” She asked quietly. “Do you think Mia should have gotten a doula, like you had? I always had one, too. I mentioned it to her, but didn’t want to be pushy.”

I looked back from the window to see her slightly worried expression. “You know, Alena was my first baby. I didn’t know much about being pregnant or giving birth. And I really didn’t have anyone sensible to give me advice. Other than my friend Mary Lou, who had moved away from the Burg by then. So having a doula made a big difference for me.” Julie nodded.

“But, you know, Mia might not need that. She seems really grounded, and she has a big family back in San Diego. Who knows,” I gave Julie a slight nudge with my elbow, “maybe Mia hung out in the room through a birth or two, herself.” I smiled, seeing that Julie was starting to look calm, again.

“And besides, Julie, having a doula isn’t a magic recipe to make things work out. Do you remember the bean-bag chair?”

Julie started to chuckle. “Oh no, how could I ever forget that?” I had to laugh, too. Really, it was a vintage Plum-family moment. 

Since I couldn’t get comfortable, my doula had suggested I try curling up in the bean-bag chair that was in the corner. Which was a great idea until I couldn’t get out of it. I remember rolling around like a turtle on its back, while Val and Les were all tangled trying to help me. 

All the sudden, I’d just rolled off onto the floor with a big thud. That’s when I’d hit Val and knocked her into the exercise ball, which flew across the room and bounced off my dad. I remember that part pretty clearly. He’d dropped his big bottle of soda water, which then spun like a drunken figure-skater on the floor, spraying my mom, grandma, and basically the whole room. 

Julie was laughing at the memory. “Oh Steph, I remember, that’s when one of the nurses came to check your dilation again. Everything knee-level and below was soaking wet. She called for towels, and suddenly there was a crowd of people at the door.” 

“Jeez, all I remember at that point was thinking that, if one more person came to check my dilation I was going to sell tickets. We’d spent so much time trying to find a place that had a quiet, calm birthing suite. And, there I was, in the middle of the Plum family circus. 

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t just your family. I think my favorite was when you punched the nurse. And you did that, all by yourself.” 

“What? Now you, too?” Sheesh, nobody was ever going to let me live that down. I could see Ramón’s shoulders shaking again in silent laughter. Beyond him, I could see that we were back on the main road again, nearing the hospital. 

“C’mon, you guys! I was right in the middle of what had to be the worst contraction I could imagine. So then Claire Overbay from my sister’s class in high school, all dressed in a nurse’s uniform, tells me that I needed to ‘channel my happiness’ through each contraction so the baby would have a contented aura while being born.” 

Julie laughed. “Wow, I might have slugged her myself.” Still chuckling, she added, “I always wondered what she’d said to you. That is choice!” 

It  _ was  _ funny. But I’d felt really badly about it. So, a week after Alena was born, I retraced my steps back to the hospital, up to the maternity ward. I could tell the moment Claire noticed me. Her eyes went wide and she’d ducked quickly behind a door. But, she forgave me over the plate of my mother’s legendary Double Chocolate Butterscotch bars, which I’d brought specifically for Claire. Between that, my honest apology, and a couple of stories from school, I was forgiven.

“So, Julie, after remembering all of this, I have to ask. Why do you think it’s a good idea for me to be there, while Mia gives birth? Don’t get me wrong: I can’t wait to meet my first great-granddaughter. And, I’m honored. But… well, I’m not sure I bring anything practical to the moment.” 

Julie smiled, waving my concern away with a flip of her hand. “Come on, you’ll be perfect. After all, you had three healthy babies, so you know the drill. Besides, I still remember the stories of you and Uncle Bobby delivering Hal and Carrie’s first son on the table in the Rangeman breakroom. This time it’s in a hospital and there’s people to do all that. We just have to do normal family things.”

I started to respond with a joke about “normal” and “family” maybe not belonging in the same sentence. But then Julie’s words made me realize something deeper. 

She had chosen  _ me  _ to be part of her family, same as she had chosen her father, her Papi. She had claimed us as her “normal,” with all our baggage and our imperfections. She wanted us with her because in her heart—as in my heart—this is where family belonged. Together, for the important things. Where we’d always tried to be, for her.

I felt my heart swell as I reached out my hand and touched Julie’s face. “And that’s just what we’ll do, Julie. We’ll be there as family. Be there with Mia.” I smiled at Julie, whose eyes gleamed back at me. 

With that, we arrived at the hospital. After Ramón dropped us off, Julie went up to the maternity ward while I waited just inside the entry door. After about 10 minutes, the second Rangeman SUV dropped off Carlos. We walked inside with one of the Miami Rangemen following a few paces behind us. 

Noticing my husband’s practically sprightly gait—he was almost swinging his cane like a trendy walking stick—I nudged him. “Mr. Mañoso, you’ve got that ‘I’m ready for anything’ walk, today.” I saw the corner of his eye crinkle in amusement. “But, I have to wonder: Are you ready for the maternity chaos zone?” I smiled thinking about how every birthing room I’d experienced was the complete opposite of the calm Ranger Mañoso zone. 

He laughed briefly, “Yeah Babe. I’m ready.” He looked down at me briefly, the corner of his mouth crooked into a smile. “Of course, I’m banking on my hope that she doesn’t have a bag full of guns, like you did when Alena was born.” 

“Ugh, that is so not fair!” I elbowed him as I heard him snort with amusement, then continued, “You know that I grabbed the wrong duffle out of my car on the way to the hospital. I swore that was the duffle with my robe and hair products.”

“Kinda heavy for a robe, Babe.”

“Well, the real bag had shoes in it. Some books in it, too.” He cocked one of his elegant, silver eyebrows as we entered the elevator. “Okay, yeah, well I wasn’t exactly paying attention to all the details at that very moment.”

He reached out and put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in a brief hug. “I know, Babe. You were amazing. I was totally proud of you.” He hugged me again, then grinned briefly. “Beyond that, I was glad I wasn’t the only one in the room with a bag of guns, even if you had the hospital staff ducking for a moment.”

I laughed. “Good point.” I hugged him back. “We’re really a pair, huh?” I felt his quiet laughter as the elevator door opened and he released me. As we started down the hall to the maternity ward, I mused, “Who would have thought we’d have a great-grandchild, and be here for her to be born?”

Carlos stopped in the hallway and turned to me, his chocolate brown eyes intent on my face. “You know, don’t you?” In response to my probably puzzled stare, he continued, “You showed me how to have a family, Babe. You’re why I’m here. Without you, I’d probably just be an old mercenary that Julie barely remembered at this point.” 

He leaned down, his forehead against mine, and the world melted away as it always did in his presence. “It’s you, Babe. Always has been.” 

At that moment, I heard a door burst open to hubbub, and Julie’s voice called out, “Papi, Steph, get in here.” 

Carlos smiled down at me, then took my hand while pulling away to start walking toward Julie. As soon as we got into the hospital room, we found the midwife, a doctor, two nurses, and Mia yelling at them to get a clue. She was actively pushing, well into the process of giving birth.

“Julie,” I said softly, reaching out to grab her hand. “Mia’s really far along.” I was astonished, remembering the long, intense hours it had taken me to get to this stage. 

Julie grimaced. “Yeah, Mia drove herself here and checked in last night. By herself. I would have been here, but I only found out this morning when RC called from the road.” She paused, shaking her head. “She’s an amazon.” 

Mia looked over at us between pushes, peeking around the midwife who was holding her hand. “Hey, you’re just in time for the big event. Mama J. sure knows how to mobilize people.” At just that moment, Julie’s half-sister Robin Martine-Lewis came through the door, too. Mia laughed briefly, then cried out as another contraction hit. 

“Push honey,” the midwife urged her. “Just a couple more pushes and you’ll be done.” 

“Get this baby the hell out of me! Where is RC, goddamit? His whole family is here! What the hell is taking him so long?” Mia shouted. 

Julie looked over at Carlos and me. “Does one of you still have a hand-held speaker phone that’s safe for use in hospitals? We can call RC in his car.” In fact, both of us had that type of phone. I did, because the small glasses-style phones tangled hopelessly in my hair. Carlos did, because he knew I wanted to be able to see him when we talked, and only the hand-helds easily allowed for that. 

By the time that thought had fully formed, Carlos had already pulled out his phone and they were punching-in RC’s number. He answered on the first ring, and after a quick conversation, Bianca started navigating RC toward a restaurant parking lot. 

Then the doctor barked out, “Mia, try not to push this time. I take it the father isn’t here yet to cut the cord?”

Julie answered quickly, “No, that’s who’s on the phone.” 

Almost at the same time, RC called out from the speaker, “Mom, can you do it for me?” 

Julie looked at the phone, “Honey, RC are you sure?” 

Mia was nodding from the bed, exhausted, her face red with strain. “Just do it, Mama J.”

On the phone, Bianca seconded her. “Julie, you’re his mom. It’s in the family. You should do it.”

So we watched as Julie squared her shoulders, reached out, and with the nurse’s guidance, cut the umbilical cord. She had tears in her eyes; one of the few times I’d ever seen her cry. The look on her face, though, was radiant. As I watched, she started to smile the most joyful smile I’d ever seen.

As we stood watching Julie, I felt Carlos’ arms tighten around me. He reached down to kiss the side of my face. 

He was remembering, too. Back when I was giving birth to Alena, Ranger had finally arrived home from his mission, right when she was being born. The doctor had just cut the cord and I was pushing again, almost there, when I looked up and saw him in the doorway. He was still dressed in his desert camouflage with his backpack and duffle. I was convinced I was hallucinating at that point.

“So now you show up,” I’d panted, in the slight pause before my final push. “You may want a baby camel, but I don’t care. We’re having a daughter! She’s going to look like me! She only  _ feels  _ like a freaking camel.” I’d taken another deep breath, feeling another push coming on.

I remember seeing a brief flicker of confusion played across his face. Then he’d smiled, the sweet smile that went all the way to his eyes, the one he only used for me. 

“Babe,” he’d said, as he put his pack down at the door and strode to the bed. He took my hand from Bobby’s and used his other hand to brush some of my sweaty curls off my forehead. As he tucked a bit of stray hair behind my ear, he leaned down. Almost whispering, he’d said, “No camels needed, Babe. All I want is right here in this room.”

It was all a blur after that. I remember pushing one final time, feeling like I was on fire, and then hearing Alena cry. I’d felt awash with joy, but then I’d needed to push again for the placenta. Something, which by the way, seemed really unfair. Everyone else got to see the baby in her first moments, while meanwhile I was still working. But Ranger, that is  _ Carlos _ , was by my side encouraging me, so I felt like I could have moved mountains at that moment.

When I was finally done pushing, the doctor had signaled for my husband to stand, then handed him a bundle wrapped in a small blanket. I had watched, rapt, as my breathtakingly handsome man took our tiny, squirming baby in his large hands. He held her safe against his broad chest, away from the stitching on his uniform. His sun-darkened face was uncharacteristically unguarded, a look of astonishment in his deep brown eyes. 

He had looked over at Julie, shifted the baby slightly to free one of his hands, and pulled her close. He then gazed back down at the tiny new life nestling in his other arm.

I remembered seeing what looked like a tear under his eye, about to run into the stubble on his cheek, and wished I was closer so I could wipe it away. In the midst of the activity still going on, I could see that Bobby and Lester had both moved my family back to give him a moment of privacy. Then he looked over at me, his eyes shining, and he said, “Everything, Babe, everything I want.” He’d hugged Julie and then moved his arm down to take her hand. 

They’d both walked over to me, and then he sat back down in the chair next to the bed. Using both of his hands, he’d placed our baby in my arms. While I’d gazed for the first time at our curly-headed daughter, his kiss on the side of my head was one of the sweetest, softest caresses I’d ever felt. The most perfect answer to the question at the base of my soul. 

That memory was strong in my heart as I stood in the birthing room, my back to Carlos’ front, watching Julie help our first great-granddaughter get born. After all these years, his kiss was just as sweet. I looked back over my shoulder and smiled. 

“Babe,” his lips lifted slowly in a smile, that lovely expression that went all the way to his chocolate-colored eyes. Then he nodded, kissed me again, and then pointed with his chin. “Look.”

At which point I heard the unmistakable sound of a baby’s cry. I looked over in time to see the doctor discarding the suction bulb while Julie stood beaming with the baby in her arms. I could see tiny fists waving while the baby yelled lustily with her first breaths. 

“Oh. Mia.” Julie beamed. “She’s just perfect,” she added, as she moved closer to her daughter-in-law. Looking at the phone, she sighed. “RC, Bianca, she’s amazing. She has Mia’s beautiful eyes.” Julie’s sister Robin quietly snapped a couple pictures of Julie with the baby, who had started to calm. “RC, Robin’s going to send a couple pictures to your phone so you can see her.” 

Mia was finally ready, and Julie handed the baby to her. Mia’s first child, Julie’s first grandchild, our first great-grandchild. Looking exhausted, Mia gazed at the baby, one finger wrapped in her daughter’s fist. She turned to the phone. “RC, you were right about her name. That’s who she is.” 

“Why don’t you tell them, sweetie,” RC’s voice came over the phone. 

Mia smiled, looked around the room, then looked up at Julie. “We’ve decided to name her Julietta Bianca, after both of her grandmothers.” She looked down again at Julietta, touching her downy baby hair. “Julietta, say hello to the family.” Mia smiled, rapt in her moment.

RC piped up from the phone, “We figured… Since I’m named after two grandfathers, and Mia is named after her dad’s mother, well it seemed like a good family tradition to keep.” 

Julie’s hands went to her chest. “I’m so honored, thank you,” she said, just as Bianca’s voice over the phone added, “Oh my, I’m undone. Thank you darlings.” Bianca’s voice was thick with emotion, as I saw Julie’s face glisten with pride.

While Mia, Julie, and Bianca spoke, the usual intimate swirl of new-baby activity and conversation resumed in the rest of the room. Carlos and I excused ourselves, saying that I wanted to go freshen up after the long flight. In reality, though, I remembered that there was a point when it got to be really annoying to have people hovering. I wanted to give Mia some space.

As we sat in the visitor lounge, lost in our respective thoughts, the moment when Julietta got her name triggered one final memory from Alena’s birth. 

I had been resting in the darkened room, finally alone after giving birth, the baby asleep in my arms. I was thinking about my husband, who I still called Ranger at that time. He was briefly absent, as Bobby and Lester had found a place where he could shower and change clothes. Before he’d stepped away, he’d dug into his backpack and given me the tan Rangers beret he took with him for good luck on every mission. Kissing me, he’d said I was his good-luck from now on.

In that quiet moment, my Grandma Mazur slipped into the room and took my hand. She knew that I’d been poring over baby books ever since I’d found out I was having a daughter. I’d made lists and then crossed-out all the names on multiple occasions. She’d sat down next to the hospital bed and, for the first time I could remember, she’d told me the story of her own mother, who’d come to the US penniless after the war. 

According to my grandmother, her mother was a refugee after their part of Hungary got annexed into another country in the post-war chaos. Separated from her family, somehow she’d gotten to Vienna and managed to contact a distant relative in the US. She’d put everything she had into passage. Then, as soon as she’d gotten here, she’d found work in a factory and got a second job in a corner butcher shop near the Trenton rail yard. 

That’s where my great-grandfather Janos had met her. On entering the shop one evening on an errand for his mother, he’d been astonished to see a dainty woman with cornflower-blue eyes waving a cleaver at two hefty, would-be robbers. After helping her subdue them, he’d set about wooing her, and they’d been engaged within months.

I still remember my Grandma Mazur, seated next to my hospital bed, telling me with uncharacteristic quietness, “Her name was Alena. I see her sometimes in your face. You have that kind of bravery, also.” She’d looked up as Ranger hovered in the doorway, clean-shaven, still wet from his shower, and dressed in sweats. Then she’d looked back at me and winked. “And, I suspect your daughter with that big hunk-of-a-man will have that kind of bravery, too.” 

He’d smiled at that, and then nodded at me as he came in the room. “Alena’s a good name, Babe. If we call her Alena Rosa, she’ll have the names of strong women from each of our families.” 

With that, my grandmother had patted me on the shoulder as she stood and then turned to leave. I’d smiled back at Ranger and held out my free hand to him. Then I’d looked down at our sleeping miracle. “Alena Rosa Mañoso. I can’t imagine a better name.”   


Decades later, sitting in the hospital lounge down the hall from Mia’s room, after another miracle, I looked over at my big hunk of a silver-haired man and smiled. Yup, Julie got it right. This was exactly like when Alena was born, and that was perfect. Surrounded by family, named for the best and bravest among them, starting it right. 

Welcome to the family, Julietta Bianca. 


	4. Auld Lang Syne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Auld Lang Syne’ is in the same year as the previous stories. It follows Stephanie as she makes her way through the last day of the old year with family in Miami, leading up to the New Year and its promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters and trademarks in these stories belong to their respective owners. This story is purely for entertainment with no profit, so there may be mistakes.

**Auld Lang Syne**

“But Raul, it’s just a mopey song!” I exclaimed on the phone to my youngest son. “Can’t you skip it in the playlist?”

Laughing, Raul’s voice answered, “Ma, _Auld Land Syne_ is the one song you absolutely have to play at a New Year’s party. I have a whole bunch of other songs queued up that I know you like, so you’ll just have to deal with one mopey song.” 

“But the family’s mostly Cuban; isn’t there some other song we can have? Like a song that celebrates dumping buckets of water out the door to renew your luck for the coming year, or having your mother-in-law secretly pour lentils in your purse for prosperity, year-after-year?"

That got a deep laugh from the phone; the laugh that sounds just like his father's. "Ma, it’s Ric’s Miami Rangeman party, not a family party. And you know that Big Bro’ likes it ‘old school.’ He paused, laughing again. “Besides, we have this discussion every year. I have to admit, though, that your song ideas get better and better— _cada vez mejor_ —each year. 

From behind me, I heard my hairdresser Yanela giggle, "Tell him, _¡no te olvides de la escoba!_ " At that, the ladies in the seats all started to laugh. " _O de la maleta,_ wheeling it around the block at midnight." The room erupted around me, at that point. 

Through the chatter of happy New Year memories that have started up, I heard Raul ask, "Ma, where the heck are you, anyway?"

"I'm at the beauty salon, the one I like down in Coral Gables, getting my hair and nails done for tonight's party. The ladies here want your New Year's song to include the broom that sweeps negativity from the front door. Oh, and I have several thumbs-up here asking to include the thing where you go around the block with your suitcase so you get lots of nice trips." I heard a couple of whoops around the room, and the ladies at the end of the row started comparing vacation ideas. 

"Are they starting the champagne early, there?" Raul asked. As I chuckled, about to tell him no, that we were just giddy that we would all be with loved ones to celebrate the new year, he cut in quietly. "You know, Ma, you're not Latina so you might not have the feel for it, but people really believe in those traditions."

"Oh no, I totally believe in them," I responded quickly. "Your father laughs at it, because he's the one who's Cuban but he just thinks they're superstitions. To him, it's like how my dad's family always had us throw a pinch of salt over our left shoulder to ward away _il Diavolo_ , the Devil."

"Huh? Ma, are you telling me that you don't believe in throwing salt over your shoulder, but you do believe in the luggage-around the-block thing?"

"Well, as much as any custom. But, you know what? The second year that your father and I were married, when he still got called away overseas all the time, your Great-Grandma Santos told me it was important to go clockwise when you wheel the suitcase around the block; otherwise you don’t get any trips. So, I snuck out the door with your father's carry-on and went around the block counter-clockwise to keep him from having to travel as much. And it worked."

"Ma, I can't believe you're telling me this. It worked because Dad's contract expired and he refused to renew. I've heard all of those stories." His voice was muffled a bit at the end and I heard someone tuning a guitar in the background. Raul was staying in our Miami guesthouse for a few weeks with his fiancée, Moira, and a few close mutual friends. In fact, a couple of them were also his bandmates, and they'd be joining him for the songs they were covering tonight around midnight.

"Yeah, Raul, ending the contract helped. But, they called him twice after his contract expired and there was nothing he could do. That whole mess in Chechnya happened more than a year after it expired. So, I figured a Cuban ritual might help out a Cuban man, and it did." 

I saw Yanela nod emphatically and give me a thumbs-up in the mirror. Though she was third-generation US and wearing an oversized Hialeah-Miami Lakes High School football shirt, Yanela was brought up in Havana Libre on the island and was steeped in the culture. 

"And the salt thing? Holy cow, Raul, it totally doesn't work. I remember when I was in high school my dad's eldest sister, Aunt Eleanor, knocked over the salt shaker at Sunday dinner at our house. It was the fancy one—a tiny crystal-and-silver shaker—and about five grains of salt came out. She scraped them up and promptly threw them over her left shoulder and made the sign of the cross."

"Yeah, okay..." I heard Raul mumble.

"The point is: It didn't work. The very next night, she had a stroke and died. Now, I'll admit that she was like two hundred pounds overweight and even my dad said she was mean as a hyena. But the point is that the salt thing clearly didn't work.” Thinking about it, a bit, I added, “Of course, I’ll still do the salt tossing thing myself, because you don’t want to tempt fate, but I don’t really believe that one.”

I heard Raul snort and mutter something under his breath, so I figured I should get us back on track. "Anyhow, Raul, what kind of song is _Auld Lang Syne_? ‘Let old acquaintances be forgot and never brought to mind'... Sheesh, who decided that was a good way to usher in good things in the new year? I never want to forget old acquaintances! I want to have more of them around me. Like Tank, if we can just get him to buy that condo near us."

I could hear Raul trying to speak over my objections, so figured I'd let him talk. After all, he often comes up with a perspective that gives me something new to think about.

"Ma, I don't know. I didn't make up the song or the tradition to sing it at midnight. But, I think that the complete song is an invitation to drink a toast to _remember_ those old acquaintances and times gone by. It's not saying that they _should_ go away. But, I'll find the full lyrics for tonight. Also, here's what you should do. Make sure one of your New Year wishes is to bring your old acquaintances around you. That way, you'll counteract any bad ju-ju from having a mopey song. Deal?"

“Deal… that’ll work.” I smiled. My son was a master at figuring out what I needed, and had an imagination that kept up with mine. He was also the child who looked the most like me, having inherited the shape of my chin and my mop of curly hair, though his hair was dark like his father’s. Of course, like all three of my children, he had his father’s lovely smile and deep brown eyes. 

At that moment, Yanela’s assistant Maria came over to put the final seal coat on my nails. I’d had my fingernails done in a swirling coral and silver to match the embroidery on the dress I planned to wear, with the toenails in a solid coral. She’d done a great job, as always. “ _Muy bonitas_ ,” I acknowledged as she sat down; they really were very pretty. She smiled back at me, and got to work.

In my ear I heard, “I know you’re not saying that something about _me_ is very pretty.” Raul laughed, and then said, “But, hey, you should talk to Alena after Sunday, when she and Alex get back from their couples’ retreat in Barbados. Before I left, she’d dragged Uncle Tank to visit the realtors again. I think she _may_ have gotten him to put an offer on that condo down the street from you.” 

“Yes!” I shouted. I pulled my hand slightly, unconsciously ready to pump my fist, when Maria slapped my hand and settled it back on the nail polish cushion. I looked apologetically at her, while continuing, “Raul, that is awesome news; I will definitely call her.” I had a strong urge to call Tank directly, except I didn’t want to interrupt any negotiations that Alena had underway. Also, I knew Tank still had his phone set on ‘silent’ so I wouldn’t be able to reach him directly anyway. 

So I’d have to figure out how to wait until Sunday, without driving everyone crazy. Well, without driving my husband Carlos crazy. But, of course, after a lifetime of knowing me, Carlos—also known as badass Ranger Mañoso—had many ways to distract me. Some of which were extremely enjoyable. On reflection, waiting until Sunday might be okay, after all.

“Ma, just wait at least a couple hours until after they get back home, okay?” I could hear Raul laughing again. “And please don’t tell Alena that I was the one who said to call. ‘Big Sis’ _always_ gets me back.” I could hear Moira in the background, reminding Raul about the time Alena signed him up to chaperone her sons’ Science Camp weekend hike after he’d poked fun at her soccer car-pool responsibilities. I recalled that it had rained and they’d slogged through mud the entire weekend, which the boys had loved despite Raul’s adult horror.

Amused at the memory, I figured it was time to end the call. “So, I’ll see you guys tonight at the party. Isabel and Raquel are going to drop me off at the hotel after we finish shopping today, so I won’t see you at home, first.” 

“Sounds good, Ma. By the way, ask Isabel about Vijay.” I heard a brief scuffle, then “Ow! Moira!” from Raul. 

After another scuffle, Moira’s voice came over the phone. “Ignore him. Your matchmaking son fixed-up Isabel on a blind date with one of the young guys from the brokerage office. He’s just nosey; he wants to find out how it went.”

“Ah, got it,” I chuckled. Moira had a charming ability to encourage Raul’s better instincts and to also see through his more dubious plans. It took him until he was in his 30s to find her, but he’d definitely waited until he found the right person. I could identify. 

As we ended the call I mused that, of course, I’d have to ask Julie’s daughter Isabel about Vijay. And I smiled, thinking about how, along with his hair, Raul had inherited his “matchmaking” and “nosey” instincts from me. I smiled even more broadly, thinking of sweet, buoyant Isabel happy on a date. Even nicer to imagine that it was one of Raul’s friends. 

Shortly after that, my nails were done and we finished the final rinse and styling of my hair. Yanela put it in an upsweep that left curls free around my face and neck. Still rambunctiously curly, though now frosted gray instead of brown, my hair had a “mind of its own” and Yanela was one of the few stylists who’d ever figured it out. Casual and sophisticated at the same time, this style looked deceptively natural and would hold up in the muggy Miami weather. 

I turned left and right in front of the mirrors to check it out, and saw Raquel and Isabel smile as they came in the salon door. 

“Grandma Steph,” Raquel called out, “you will be the belle of the ball!”

“Again!” Isabel smiled, as they both came over to greet me. 

Looking at them, it was clear that they were our daughter Julie’s children. Raquel was a bit stocker and had her father Mark’s sandy hair color, but Isabel was almost a carbon copy of Julie in her mid-20s. They both had Julie’s elegant facial features, her coloring, and her mannerisms. And they all had that amazing Mañoso smile whose brilliance could put diamonds to shame. 

Introducing them to Yanela and the other ladies in the shop, I bragged a bit. “We’re going to head out now, and shop for a couple suits for Raquel. She’s in her last year of school at Rutgers Law, and gets to actually litigate in court this year.” This got a lot of “oohs” and “ahhs” from the ladies, one of whom was a retired paralegal. Maybe I could introduce them before Raquel headed back north.

I saw Isabel elbow Rachel good-naturedly as we headed out the door to their rental car, which was parked out front. Looking around discreetly, I saw the Rangeman car a half-block down. I smiled to myself, realizing how natural that had become to me. After years of cagy ploys to dodge my trackers, I’d gotten to expect them and to even anticipate which Rangemen I’d see on a given day. Funny what a few death-defying abductions and marriage to a security expert can do.

“So Grandma Steph, Mom said she thinks Ann Taylor is still the best place to go for off-the-shelf suits,” Raquel commented as she pulled out of the parking place. “She said that’s where she’d take us, herself, if she weren’t at home making goo-goo eyes at RC’s baby.” 

“Of course,” Isabel added, “mom didn’t say the part about ‘goo-goo eyes.’ That part was added later.”

I laughed, “Hey, I did the goo-goo eyes yesterday to give the new parents a break, so it’s Julie’s turn. Julietta is a cutie, for sure. And, as you well know, we grandmas like to spoil our first granddaughters.” I winked at my own first two granddaughters. 

“Hard to believe we were that little.” Isabel commented.

“Were we?” Raquel asked. “I can’t imagine it. Each of her fingers is smaller than my little toe.” 

“You two were even smaller.” I commented. “You were twins and had totally run out of space by the time you were born. You were each about six pounds, while Julietta was closer to eight.”

“Oh no, we were puppies!” Isabel exclaimed. “I knew it!”

“We were not puppies, you goof.” Raquel retorted. “We were lovely young ladies, destined for great things. That’s Mom’s story and I’m sticking to it.”

“Yeah, but she always said that after we’d misbehaved, so I think it was a Jedi mind trick. Maybe _you_ were a lovely young lady, but I was a puppy.” 

“Well,” Raquel answered as she turned left in traffic. “That would explain why your toes were always freaking cold when we shared the bed at Grandma Rachel’s house, and why you always liked to chase Uncle Tank’s cats.” 

“You are such a brat!” Isabel exclaimed, with a mock slap at her sister’s arm. “Just ‘cuz you won, and we’re going to Ann Taylor instead of Esme’s Atelier, which would clearly be a more fun store to visit.” 

Raquel snorted, “We’re going to Ann Taylor because I need conservative suits, instead of the designer outfits you showed me. I swear, that last dress looked like the Chiquita Banana Girl borrowed the Michelin Tire Man’s coat, and then used lawn shears to make a mini-skirt.”

“Yeah,” Isabel giggled, “that one was funny. But, it made a statement! You would never be forgotten if you wore that to court.” 

“Yeah, but I could probably make a better impression, and still be as memorable, if I led a hippo into the courtroom.” At that they both burst into laughter and I couldn’t help but join them. After the challenging relationship I’d had with my own sister, it was a treat to see Raquel and Isabel still enjoying each others’ company well into their 20s. 

In fact, they still shared an apartment up in New York for a few more months until Raquel’s next semester. And, here in Miami, they were camped out in their old bedroom’s twin beds in Julie’s house for the holidays. 

After a bit more banter, we arrived at the store. Isabel and I led the charge, finding candidate outfits for Raquel, who decided which ones to try on. While Isabel and I waited for Raquel to model the first of them, Isabel sat down next to me and asked, “So, where’s Papi today? Did he go get his hair and nails done, too?” 

I heard Raquel’s giggle from the dressing room, as I play-swatted my granddaughter. “Isabel, be respectful.” I snorted, “Anyhow, your grandfather has never needed to do anything artificial to be drop-dead handsome.”

“I don’t know… Papi does have a ‘thing’ for resistance-strength workout equipment and weights,” Raquel commented as she appeared in the doorway, modeling the first suit. “That set he has in your Trenton condo is amazing. And I know for a fact he still uses it.” She turned left, then right, to show us the suit.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “He’s always liked to exercise, and still does what he can. I’ll never complain, though, because I get to watch him get all sweaty exercising _and_ I get the benefits after.” I smiled, thinking about how true that was.

“Too much info!” both girls called out, giggling. Isabel play-swatted me back. She and I looked at each other and, after a fashion ESP moment, Isabel spoke for both of us. “Skip that one. Good fit, but that light green color washes out your natural tone.” 

As Raquel went back to the dressing room, Isabel giggled, “Mom says that Daddy almost put himself in traction the first time they visited your house and Daddy tried to keep up with Papi’s exercise regimen.”

I laughed at that. I remember my occasional and brief spurts of trying to follow an exercise plan designed by my husband, back when I'd still called him Ranger. I’d discovered that running in the morning had been a great way to start my day with barfing. Weightlifting had given all of my Rangeman spotters a case of jitters while they waited for me drop the barbell on my chest. Or, perhaps, fling the weights like frisbees of weightlifting death.

The final straw was when I’d gotten a severe leg cramp on an elliptical. I had lain on the gym floor for about five minutes, thrashing and yelling on-camera in detail about how I wanted Ranger’s godlike body but I didn’t want my own body to look that way. I think that was what had prompted Bobby to intervene. After he introduced me to Zumba and Hip Hop Hustle at the local Fitness ‘n Fun, I finally started exercising with success. 

"But really Grandma Steph," Isabel interrupted my musing. "Is Papi okay? We haven't seen him since we arrived."

“Oh honey, thanks for checking. He’s fine. His leg and hip have been giving him a bit of trouble the past couple of days, but this happens sometimes.” I knew it frustrated Carlos, not knowing when he’d have problems. The trainer was scheduled to come for another massage tomorrow, and I hoped he’d start to feel better soon.

“Mostly, though, he’s just been busy. He’s still on the Boards of Directors for Rangeman and for the Miami-Dade Veterans Outreach Center. This winter, he’s also been consulting for the Coast Guard.” I could see that she still look concerned, so I decided to lighten the mood. I leaned into Isabel slightly and added, “Today, though, he’s at Rangeman with your Uncle Ricardo. I think they’re taking the day to plot the downfall of Evil everywhere.”

Raquel emerged from the dressing room in another suit. “Uh oh, Evil’s in trouble,” she said smiling.

“Yeah,” Isabel added, “Evil stands no chance after today.” As she smiled, I caught her eye and nodded at Raquel. Catching my meaning, Isabel piped up, “Hey sis, that one’s a winner.” 

“Oh yay. Does that mean we’re done?”

“No sweetie,” I smiled. “Let’s see if we can find a second suit so you have a good backup. Then we can find shoes and accessorize.” I could see the look of dismay on Raquel’s face, so added, “Don’t worry, you’re with shopping professionals. I already spotted the scarf and necklace I’d pair with what you have on.” 

“The peach scarf, right?” Isabel asked, and I nodded. She continued, “And Quel,” Isabel called out to her sister Raquel, “you already have shoes that will go with that outfit, so you’re one up already.” Isabel paused. “Or you could borrow my navy blue strappy heels.” 

Raquel rolled her eyes, then darted back into the dressing room. Taking advantage of the moment, I caught Isabel’s glance again. “So, kiddo, I hear that I’m supposed to ask you about your date with a young man named Vijay.” 

She blushed and looked toward the dressing room. “Quel! Did you rat on me?”

“No Bel,” Raquel answered Isabel. “It must have been Raul.”

“He is in so much trouble!” Isabel crossed her arms, but I could see the bashful smile she was trying to hide. 

“The way I heard it, Raul introduced you. So he’s only in trouble if it was a bad date.” I winked at her.

From the dressing room, Raquel called out, “And, the way _I_ heard it, the date was mighty nice and ended with a gentlemanly good-night kiss at the door.” 

“You’re ganging up on me. No fair!” She paused, but then got a shy look on her face. “It actually was a nice date, though. He was really funny, and seemed interested in what I was talking about. Which surprised me since he’s in equity trading and I do staging and costumes for Off Broadway.” 

“Yeah, and he’s cute!” Raquel volunteered from the dressing room. “They’ve got another date the first weekend after we get back to New York. Bel, you better be wearing those red undies I gave you for luck.” It had taken me a few years of getting red Victoria’s Secret outfits from Carlos at the end of the year before I found out that a gift of red underwear to be worn on New Year’s Eve was a wish for your friend to be lucky in romance. 

“Raquel!” Isabel shouted. She wadded up some cardboard into a ball and threw it over the door at her sister. “Ow!” echoed from the dressing room. 

Isabel continued, “I got you really nice yellow undies from Journelle for good luck. And, here you are telling tales in front of Grandma!” 

I looked at Isabel, and it was likely that her new year’s underwear was about the same shade as her deep blush. “Grandma Steph,” she reached out and touched my arm. “Don’t tell Daddy.” Her eyes got wide as she added, “Or Papi either, omigod. And don’t tell Raul either. He’s only a few years older than us, so I forget sometimes that he’s our uncle.”

“Hey sweetie,” I pulled Isabel to me and kissed the top of her head. “If Vijay is nice to you, and you’re having fun, then that’s all any of us need to know.” I nuzzled her lightly, murmuring, “And, I don’t need to know anything whatsoever about what happens in those red undies.” 

“Grandma!” 

I laughed briefly, releasing Isabel. “I do know that Raul’s usually a good judge of character, and he _is_ practically your older brother. He’s only a few years older than your brother RC. Anyhow, I’m happy that you’ve met someone nice to start the new year with. It might not go beyond a couple of dates, but you can never tell without trying.” 

“And he’s way nicer than Steve, who I hope you’ve finally dumped, by the way,” I heard Raquel’s voice over the sound of a zipper closing. “The last time _he_ took you on a date, it was springtime and you went to Home Depot because he needed to buy a wet vac.” 

“We used to get together all the time!” Isabel protested.

“Yeah, to watch Knicks games in the tavern on the first floor of his building.” 

I could tell that Isabel was getting annoyed. I could identify with this dynamic. 

“Hey Sweetie.” I hugged Isabel again, briefly. “You should date whoever you want. And, it’s nobody else’s business if your ideal togetherness time is going to Home Depot and watching Knicks games together. If it is, tell your new friend Vijay and see if maybe he likes that, too.” Isabel made a face, and I heard Raquel snort from behind the door. 

“But, just remember that it’s not good when one partner in a relationship just goes along with the other person’s ideas all the time. That’s bad for both people.” I paused, remembering when that was my life. “Really, trust me on this one. That’s like clue number one, top-of-the-chart, telling you that you’d be better off as friends.”

“I guess…” Isabel brushed strands of hair away from her face. “It would just be easier if people came with little tags that you could compare and, _voilà_ , find your match.”

At Isabel’s giggle, both Raquel and I burst into laughter. “Yeah, but it’s different for each person, and it changes over time. And, you never can tell who will ‘click’ with you. You have to get to know each other before you figure it out. And you sometimes have to work through some difficult stuff. But, that’s also part of finding out if the person is right.”

Isabel touched my leg briefly. “Didn’t you know, right away, with Papi? That’s what Mom said.” 

I laughed. “No, your _Mom_ knew right away that we were right for each other. She was 10 years old, but your Papi and I were older and a lot more dense. It took us a few years of seriously confusing each other and going through some difficult times before we figured it out.” I paused, thinking about those days. 

“But, here we are,” I continued after a moment, “you just never know. So think of this as a new opportunity in a new year, and just go down the path. Maybe you’ve made a new friend; maybe it’s something more.”

Isabel turned her shy smile to me, and then we watched as Raquel came out of the dressing room with the perfect suit. 

“That’s outfit number two,” Isabel said. “Let’s accessorize!” 

Raquel laughed, and threw the wadded-up cardboard ball back at her sister, and then ducked back into the dressing room to change back into her own clothes. 

After I paid for the outfits we’d picked out, along with scarves and jewelry that we all agreed looked good with Raquel’s selections, we headed to the shoe store. There, we found a pair of shoes for each of the girls. After a stop at the ice cream shop, Raquel drove us to the hotel where tonight’s Rangeman party was being held.

“So, we might see you tomorrow at your mom’s house,” I said as I exited the back seat. 

“Oh, I hope so,” Isabel said. “Bring Papi.” With a mischievous smile, she added, “You could leave Raul at home, though, since he ratted on me and my date!” 

Raquel laughed along with me, then added, “it would be great if you come by. Mom, Dad, and RC are all stay-at-home spuds these days. We three gals know how to have fun, but we’ll have to bring the party home to them, this year!”

“It’s a date,” I said as I closed the car door. I waved goodbye as I entered the hotel door. I couldn’t wait to tell Carlos tonight that I’d spent the entire afternoon on my favorite sport—shopping—and hadn’t come home with a single bag. At least the credit card had gotten a good workout. I laughed in the elevator as I headed to the suite Carlos had reserved for the night.

Hours later, Carlos found me in my thinking position on the bed. I’d lain carefully in a nest of pillows that protected my hairdo, so I probably looked like a little-old-lady action figure in its packaging, ready to ship. I heard his bark of laughter and woke to find him pulling garment bags out of the closet. “It’s showtime, Babe.” 

A guest of honor, he’d gotten back to the hotel later than expected so we didn’t have time for any detours as we dressed. Though, I’ll admit that we both amply enjoyed the opportunity to check each other out throughout the unrobing and dressing process. As I did my makeup, I gazed at the jacuzzi in the mirror, making plans for later. 

“Deep thoughts there, Babe?” Carlos asked as he appeared behind me, leaning lightly against me as he tied his bowtie. He’d decided to go more formal tonight than usual, and I swooned looking at him. Dressed, undressed… it still didn’t matter. Carlos always took my breath away. Then, he put his square-cut diamond studs in his ears, which now matched the silver of his hair, and I started debating whether we really needed to attend Ricardo’s party.

I saw Carlos smirk as he reached down to tickle the hair at the base of my neck. “Hold that thought for later, Mrs. Mañoso. Right now, we gotta go. We can’t bag-out on our son.” 

Drat, he was right. We finished dressing, then headed downstairs. We walked slowly into the banquet room, with measured steps that let Carlos balance his weight between his cane and my shoulders. His warm, solid body against mine gave me a feeling of contentment that was bone-deep. As I looked over at him and smiled, he winked at me, letting me know he was alright. 

Over the last few years, his physical therapist had taught us this walking technique. Though Carlos had initially resisted, and could walk without my assistance, he’d given in because it made me so happy to be able to help. And, it did reduce the pain on evenings like tonight, when he would need to stand and walk when he was already heavy on his feet. 

The room was already filling with Rangemen, Rangewomen, and assorted dates. I waved at the people I knew—Idris, Ramón, Kyle, Bruiser—and picked out the people who were on-call tonight because they were in work clothing. I also knew that a few people had volunteered to stay back at the office with the contract workers for the night. 

I remembered back to the days when Carlos had always taken that duty, before I helped him understand that people sometimes need to see their boss acting like a normal human being. Tonight, of course, both he and Ricardo were present, looking very much like father and son.

After a period of mingling, Ricardo got everyone's attention for a brief speech. Standing on the floor with everyone else, he spoke about how well the company had done this year and some of what was coming up. He thanked everyone, with special mention of a few people, and made a point to also call out Trenton, DC, London, Hong Kong, and the other offices that were joined by video for the speech. 

As I looked over at the images projected from the various locations, shimmering in the air, I was amazed again at the breadth of the company. A vision that my husband had founded and my son had expanded. I recognized faces in each of the sites, and saw several new people also. All part of the expanding Rangeman family.

After the applause, we found our seats. At the table with Ricardo and his wife, I felt my heart swell with pride. We had raised an outstanding man, who was himself a good husband and father to the next generation. I looked over at the stage where our other son, Raul, had arrived and was chatting and smiling with the DJ he'd hired. Correction: We'd raised two outstanding men.

As the dinner and evening rolled along, discussion started with the usual topics: Sports, local schools, vacation plans. Then it veered inevitably into weapons technology, geopolitics, contracts, and takedowns. At various points, people came over to our table to talk, and both Carlos and Ricardo got to hold court. Ricardo also circulated, though Carlos and I stayed put.

About an hour from midnight, Ricardo introduced Raul and his band. Comments from the audience made it clear that Raul was well-regarded already, which made me smile. They took the stage and began playing a mix of danceable, tropical songs. Raul had definitely included some of my favorites. I swayed in my seat while I watched the dance floor.

“Steph, feel free to dance if you want.”

I turned to look at my husband, who had loosened his tie and jacket, but still looked dapper as ever. “What I _want_ is to be with you, dancing or not.” 

“Works for me Babe,” he replied softly, leaning over to whisper into the curls around my ears. I reached out to hold his hand, twining my smaller fingers in his larger ones. He pulled our hands to rest them on his thigh; a delightfully familiar gesture.

I knew we were close to midnight when wait-staff started to bring around trays with plastic cups of grapes. From the stage, the music faded as Raul took the microphone. “Okay everyone, as midnight approaches, we’re handing out cups of grapes. For those of you from a Latino background, you know what to do." Chuckling erupted around the room. 

Raul continued, "The rest of you should feel free to join us. At the first stroke of midnight, eat one grape at a time and make a wish for each one. Here’s the trick: You need to eat all twelve before the final stroke, because it’s one per month and you want good luck in each month of the coming year.” 

There was more laughter, probably from people remembering at least one grape free-for-all in their family. “Well, some families say you have to eat each grape before twelve minutes have passed, so you can choose which custom to follow.” Raul smiled as someone shouted "Clock wimps,” from one of the tables near the door. Then, " _No, nunca en mi familia_ ” and “Yeah, not in my family either.”

"Hey, different grapes for different folks, and so on, and so on... Do what you think is right. Tonight, though, as an exciting bonus, there’s a thirteenth grape in each cup. That gives you an extra wish, if you get it finished in time. So, wait for the clock to strike.” 

Then, Carlos reached over, gently lifted my chin in his direction, and leaned in for kiss. It started sweet, though in a moment he opened his lips just enough for his tongue to dance against my upper lip, and I felt myself getting all hot and bothered. I reached out and ran my fingers through his hair as my tongue met mine. 

I was on the verge of doing something unsuitable for a company party. As my salvation, and my disappointment, Carlos pulled back at that moment. He winked at me, and cocked his lip slightly into an intimate smile. He reached down and picked up his cup of grapes. 

Out of breath, and probably a bit glassy eyed, I poured my own grapes into my left hand. I was ready to pop them in sequence, the way Carlos had taught me the first New Year we were together. I asked him, “Do you have your thirteen wishes ready?”

As the first chime sounded, he answered in a quiet, low voice, “All the same wish, Babe. Every year.”

While keeping his eyes focused on mine, one silver eyebrow lifted, he popped grape after grape into his mouth with his long fingers, chewed, and then swallowed. Still rapt at watching him after so many New Years together, it took all of my concentration to eat my grapes, one after the other. But, my wishes were important, and I wanted to get to my special thirteenth wish. 

I heard laughter around me, as people shotgunned grapes in mad abandon. Carlos only had one grape left; his gaze was uncharacteristically intimate for such a setting. 

As the final chime rang in the New Year, I smiled as I finished my thirteenth grape, and my all-important thirteenth wish: My friends, old and new, gathered around me. “Yes!” I shouted, raising my arms with my fists clenched in victory.

The corners of Carlos’ eyes wrinkled with amusement. I felt myself melting again in Carlos’ gaze, as Raul started playing the melody of _Auld Lang Syne_. He’d added a Latin syncopation, and it was much cheerier than usual. I started to smile; my son could always find ways to surprise me. 

I heard my son’s strong tenor voice start the vocal part of the song, “ _Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot, and all the old times too?_ ” I noted that his slight word change and his inflection made the song really sound like a question, for the first time. Like you could actually say “no” to it. 

I glanced up at Raul briefly, on stage, and saw that he was smiling. He knew I’d heard what he was trying to tell me. Amidst the cheering and champagne popping in the room, Raul started into the song’s chorus, with modern words. “ _For old time’s sake, my dear, for auld lang syne, we’ll raise a cup of kindness then, for all that's gone by._ ” 

Well, after all, Raul was right. It was a good New Year’s song: A call to remember what had come before. My son was amazing.

I looked again at my husband, who'd reached out to tuck a curl of hair behind my ear. Then, he looked over my shoulder and slowly his full 200-watt smile transformed his face. I saw his eyes slide over to Ricardo, who I saw was also smiling, and my husband nodded once at our eldest son. 

His eyes looking back over my shoulder, Carlos pointed with his chin, “Look Babe, we have another guest.” He put his hands on the chair armrests to steady himself, in preparation to stand. As he did so, I took a moment to look over my shoulder and saw a slim, older man standing in the doorway, half in shadow. He looked familiar but I couldn’t place him. 

I looked back at my husband, puzzled, while I reached out automatically to steady his cane. I then stood slightly in front of him so he could discreetly shift his balance to me if it helped him stand. While we went through this familiar dance, I suddenly put it together. The lean silhouette of a man, standing half in the light, whose very shadow looked dangerous and poised to spring.

“Hector!” I called out. I looked back at him in the doorway and saw Hector shrug his shoulder slightly and then smile his crooked grin. 

I felt Carlos take his cane from me, and then tap me lightly to let me know he was situated and it was safe for me to move. I smiled at my husband, reached over to kiss his cheek lightly, and then turned to run toward the doorway. Well, I walked really fast, which is kinda like running when you’re my age and wearing heels. 

“Hector, you’re here!” I reached out to touch his arm in wonder. Then, overcome, I reached out and pulled him into a hug. I felt his muscular frame tense slightly, and then relax as he put his arms around me to return the gesture. I reflected that I’d never hugged Hector before. But then again, he’d gone into hiding when my son Ricardo was still a toddler. 

“Angelita,” he said, and his familiar voice transported me back into my youth. “I see a couple things have changed since I’ve been away, but you are exactly the same.” 

I laughed, and then pulled back slightly. “Hey, you spoke in English!” 

He returned my smile. “I have had a few years of free time to learn some new things,” he said with a light accent. 

“ _Y yo también he aprendido algunas cosas_ ,” I answered in Spanish, smiling, telling him that I also had learned a few new things.

He laughed, and I realized that I’d never heard him laugh with pleasure before. So many things I’d missed. So many things to experience for the first time. At that point, Carlos joined us, along with Ricardo. Hector let me go, and reached out to take my husband’s outstretched hand. 

“Ranger, old friend, it has been too long.” 

“Yes _hermano_ , my brother, that it has.” 

“Carlos,” I turned to my husband. “Did you know Hector would be here, tonight?” Over his shoulder I could see the stage, where my son Raul was standing, slowly shaking his head. He’d stopped playing his guitar, for the moment. Wait a minute... “Hey, did Raul know that Hector was here?” 

“No, Babe, I didn’t even know until this afternoon, and it wasn’t certain that Hector would show.” 

“Mom,” Ricardo cut in. “Until today, only I knew. Hector reached out to me about a month ago—actually back when I was visiting Trenton—and he swore me to silence. I didn’t even know who he was until he told me where to dig out the Hector Saavedra file.” 

I saw Hector’s lopsided grin, again, and noticed he’d acquired a couple of gold teeth, along with a gap where another tooth was missing. 

“But, how did Raul know that I should use my last grape tonight to wish for old acquaintances to join me?”

Ricardo, Hector, and Carlos all stared at me with varying expressions of bafflement while seconds ticked away. Then, I could see it clicked for Carlos. 

“Babe, Raul didn’t know. It was just a lucky guess. He never knew Hector, and wouldn’t have known that the statute of limitations expired at midnight.” Well, I supposed that made sense. Beyond that, I’ve suspected more than once that Raul inherited the Gypsy intuition I got from my Grandma Mazur. 

“Angelita, I could not show myself to anyone until tonight. Though I didn’t know your son Ricardo, I was sure he should have the security clearances needed to verify it was finally okay for me to come from hiding. And safe for you, too. And, he would have a vested interest in keeping it all secret.” 

That also made sense, based on what I remembered. Hector had initiated an urban OK-Corral style gunfight to save Carlos and Lester from walking into a double-cross. But, because there were casualties and also witnesses from the FBI—not all of them clean—Hector decided it was best to disappear. 

He’d slipped away in the night and stayed out of contact, which kept Carlos and Lester above suspicion. But, it had angered me that they had forbidden me to look for him, to make sure he was safe.

“Plausible deniability, Steph,” Carlos murmured in my ear. 

Hector tipped his head toward Ricardo. “We got the final verification a couple hours ago. I can now walk free.” He smiled his crooked smile again, but this time it didn’t quite go to his eyes. 

I thought for a moment, and then looked at my husband. “Carlos do you mind if I have the first dance of the new year with Hector?” Another missed opportunity from the past to seize in the new year. 

At my husband’s nod of approval, I pulled Hector out to the dance floor. “Angelita,” he said, “it has been many years since I have danced.” 

“That’s okay, I have special dispensation to dance slow like an old lady, so we’ll be fine.” Hector laughed again, this time a full-bodied sound of pleasure. I vowed to have more opportunities to hear that robust and joyful sound. 

While we danced slowly around the floor, Hector told me a little about his years in hiding, mostly spent working on offshore oil rigs off the Brazilian and Venezuelan coasts. He had enjoyed the work and, ten years younger than the rest of us, had only recently decided that it had become too taxing. I told him a little of our lives and adventures in the years he’d been away. There was so much to say, but dancing together with my old friend was the best part of the dialogue. 

From the corner of my eye, I saw my son Ricardo go over to the stage, where he motioned to his younger brother. While the band continued playing the slow jazz instrumental tune to which Hector and I danced, Raul bent down and I saw them talking. Then Raul stood up, a huge smile on his face. He leaned over quickly, picked up a grape out of a cup left on the stage, and tossed it over at me. Then, he returned to his band. 

In a moment, the song blended into another tune. I couldn’t quite recognize it until Raul started to sing; then I felt tears of joy on my face and saw Carlos smile. The men in my family always knew what I needed. I felt Hector initiate a slow spin—his first in our dance—while Raul sang, “ _The way you wear your hat; the way you sip your tea; the memory of all that… Oh no, they can't take that away from me…._ ”

I squeezed Hector and whispered to him, reminding him that his freedom included family, if he wanted it. He squeezed back lightly and whispered back, “ _Gracias_ , Angelita. Thank you.”I smiled. My old acquaintances will _not_ be forgotten.


End file.
